Never Say Die
by Sassy Satsuma
Summary: Picking up after MW2 left off Soap and Price are left on the run, trying to survive in a world turned on it's head. But when a desperate op goes very wrong and an old friend comes back to haunt them, Soap is left in a different kind of drama altogether...
1. Old Friends Die Hard

_Never say die. _

Captain John Mactavish wasn't scared to die. Sure, he hadn't planned on doing it any time soon, but still that didn't mean that he actively feared it. After all, in a lot of ways, it was his job.

But that didn't mean he was going to give up in a hurry. Especially not right now. Because dying in the line of duty was one thing. Dying on the global most wanted list, now that was something else.

Even if all that was keeping him alive right then was a piece of corrugated iron and an AK 47.

Slowly peering out from cover, Mactavish fired a stream of bullets over his head blind, hoping that it would at least buy him a little time to think. _Think_. He laughed darkly. It had been Price's thinking that had got him into this mess. They should have known better than to trust the scratchy intel they'd managed to scrape together, but at the time they'd been grasping at straws_. Very short straws_. Since a good deal of people still wanted them dead. Killing a high profile "hero" like Shepherd had hardly helped their image after all.

And so here they were, another suicide mission, another last ditch attempt to save themselves, to stop the war, to save the world…in reality Mactavish wasn't quite sure what they were _actually_ fighting for. He knew who _he_ wanted. _**Makarov**__._ Hung from a tree. Preferably by his testicles.

Shepherd had only been the start.

Which brought them here, in a desperate attempt to gather supplies. They'd intercepted a military comm. system nearby and had worked out that there was an ammo dump in the area which sounded weakly defended. The plan had been a pincer movement, involving one hell of a lot of C4 and the element of surprise, allowing them to get in, grab what weaponry they could, and then get out of there as fast as possible.

In reality of course, things were quite different. There were far more men on the base than either of them anticipated, and in the skirmish that had followed the C4 explosion, Mactavish had found himself pinned down by gunfire. He was cornered and running out of ideas fast.

Blind firing again, Mactavish glanced around quickly, painfully aware that the voices from in front of him were gradually getting closer and closer. By now they would have realised that he was alone and would be moving to flank him. He paused, scanning his surroundings and desperately wracking his brain. He literally had minutes until he would be unceremoniously cut to shreds by machine gun fire…

…Or a grenade. There was a dull thud as the object hit the sand behind him, sitting within its own crater. Now it really was do or die. In a desperate attempt to save himself Mactavish sprinted left, his eyes trained on a stacked pile of crates that would at least offer a short amount of cover. The action was not unnoticed by his pursuers, and a flurry of machine gun fire erupted around him. Mactavish felt a dull pain begin to rise up from his calf, followed by a hot sting in his right hand, causing his limp fingers to drop the AK 47 that he felt so dependent upon. His left hand side also beginning to burn with pain, Mactavish crawled the last few inches to safety, realising that minutes had now become seconds before his very eyes. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the blood that was beginning to stain his combat attire Soap reached down to his hip, his fingers closing tightly around his desert eagle pistol.

A figure appeared from around the edge of the crates, and Mactavish levelled his pistol, shooting almost instantly. The figure crumpled, but was soon replaced by another, and Mactavish fired another shot, catching his assailant in the throat this time, their hands clasped around their neck as they fell. His surroundings fell unnaturally quiet, and Soap edged forward, his good left hand making a grab for one of the fallen men's rifles. But as he did so, another soldier appeared out of nowhere, stamping down on his left wrist almost out of instinct. A sharp kick to the chest hurled him backwards, leaving him winded and staring point blank down the barrel of a rifle. He'd been too slow. Watching the end of the gun intently, Soap weighed up whether or not he should radio Price, at least give him some indication of his failure. But as he watched the soldier take aim, Mactavish realised he was all out of time.

This was it. After all their hard work, and he was still going to die a traitor…

There was a gunshot, and for a split second Mactavish was left wondering why the hell he was alive enough to have heard it. That was until he realised that the single shot had come from a sniper's rifle and not a machine gun. The gun barrel disappeared from sight as its owner dropped to his knees, his breathing rasped and fading. From behind the crates Soap could hear shouts and exclamations, before another sequence of loud, yet calculated gunshots forced their way through the air. Glancing to his right, Mactavish's eyes fell upon a dusty ridge not that far away, where a figure, dressed only in black was making their way down, their movements quick yet constantly aware of their surroundings. Groaning, Soap tried to focus on the figure as they ran towards him, but his vision was hazy, the adrenaline in his system beginning to lose its potency. As the figure grew larger and closer, Soap was blinking back too much pain to properly look at them, his vision obscured and darkened by the constant flutter of his own eyelashes.

"…Price?" Mactavish managed to groan, his brain too fuzzy to remember that Price was working his way into the base from the opposite side of the compound.

"Close." The figure's accent was heavy, yet the pounding in Soap's ears made him barely even aware that it existed. "Price is hard as nails, yeah." The figure laughed softly. "But you know what they say. You just can't seem to kill a ghost."

Mactavish's eyes snapped open. _Now_ he was listening.

**So what do you think? I know that there are already going to be gaping huge plot holes but still...isn't that worth bringing back Ghost? :P **

**This is my first dive into the fandom too, so please, go easy on me if you do hate it... **

**S -x- **


	2. Bleeding Out

**A note from Sassy: I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who read/reviewed the first chapter! You were all very kind and it certainly got me motivated to get this chapter finished. Either way, I hope you enjoy it just as much. :)  
**

"_But you know what they say. You just can't seem to kill a ghost._

_"_It was a hallucination. _It had to be_. Soap was lying there, bleeding to death and his brain was grasping at straws, desperately trying to keep him calm. He was thankful for it, after all he'd seen dying men panic far too many times and Mactavish had no desire to go out in the same writhing mass of flailing limbs.

Maybe this was what death was? An image of someone already dead coming forward to help you make the same transition. Soap had never believed in any of that spiritual bollocks before, but right then with his blood oozing out into the sandy wastes and the hands of a dead man examining his wounds, Soap was willing to believe just about anything. Anything but the possibility that the man hunched over his torn body _was_ Simon Riley, the one death that Mactavish had never been able to shake off. The pain had always seemed to run too deep.

With his heart pumping a fresh swell of blood to his wounds, the sand infested base around them became darker, as if grey scaled. Firm hands pressed against his side and this time Soap let out a sharp hiss of pain, his left foot digging into the dirt as his whole body tensed. His eyes were heavy, slowly drooping, every fresh blink feeling as if it might kill him. It was as if his body was becoming resigned to its fate. The fight of the adrenaline had left his system abruptly, and every fibre of his being seemed intent on simply sending Soap to sleep. _He was so tired after all_. Even the burning agony was beginning to subside as his body slowly became numbed by blood loss…

"John!" There was a hard impact across his right cheek and Soap opened his eyes instantly, blinking furiously. Pale, icy blue eyes were staring back at him through a strange black mask and yet they were still so familiar, so clear. Soap coughed slightly, trying to fix on them rather than let his eyes close again, fighting the urge to blink with every bit of strength that he could muster. "Stay with me…you hear me? Just you stay with me…"

Soap smiled softly. It had to be a hallucination. A good one at least. And maybe it was his time. After all, he had no idea how this new world worked anymore, no idea where he fitted in amongst all the war and the fighting. He would never stop being a soldier, but now he was one with no purpose, no affiliation. Why not just let it all end now? Soap smiled again, although the action was slack and barely even noticeable. He relished the feeling of letting his weary arms drop to his sides, allowed himself one last glance at the deep blue of the sky. It was time to put an end to all the fighting…

"JOHN!" There was another slap, harder this time, although the impact only made him open his eyes, the tingles of pain lost amongst greater feelings. Ghost's mask was there again, closer this time, yet in his eyes remained the same intensity. "I mean it, Mactavish…you've come too far to give up now…it's going to take one hell of a lot more than this to kill you, alright?" In any other circumstances Ghost's voice would have been alien with concern and fear, but right then to Soap his words were merely that, just words. They were simply false echoes, not warm and comforting like the unconsciousness that he craved…

Soap was vaguely aware of Ghost taking his comm. from around his neck and speaking into it, the words barely audible through the pounding that seemed to be closing in around his ears.

He was drifting, his body felt light, limp, as if it wasn't really there anymore. His thoughts became a jumble, a heap of tattered memories and obscure ideas. It was getting so dark now, his eyes covered by grey film, and yet Soap could barely even tell whether they were open or closed. It felt as if he would never understand anything ever again. Above him idle words echoed, a raised voice barking orders, but even with the best will in the world Soap simply couldn't hear them. His consciousness was leaving him now, whether he wanted it to or not.

"No, no, no! Don't you fucking dare! You hear me, John? John! You can't give up now, not like this. You just can't. After everything that's happened…I can't lose you. Not like this."

But it didn't matter to Soap anymore. All that did matter now was sleep and rest. Maybe even some peace…

**Again I ask you for your opinions, since the lovely reviews I got last time made me speed up and get the chapter out. Thanks so much for reading of course if you get this far :) **

**-x-S-x- **


	3. Dead Men

_**A note from Sassy: This fic is a slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. **_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little.**_

_Base Camp, a dull, grey and cloudy Tuesday. The black tarmac of the base was slick with rain water, a permanent haze surrounding everyone and everything. Lights glowed within the gloom like bright smudges and the constant patter of mist like rain against metal seemed to be everywhere. _

_Aside from the odd dripping leak in the roof, the firing range provided a welcome shelter from the torrents of rain. Inside, Soap Mactavish was firing relentlessly down range, the beating of live rounds against targets a steady baseline against the drizzle. _

_The gun clicking empty, Soap let out a frustrated growl, cursing the device needlessly. He span round to the table behind him, reaching for another clip of ammunition and snapping into the hand gun. _

"_John?" The sudden voice made Soap jump out of his skin, and he instantly kicked himself for being so unaware of his surroundings. The voice was without a doubt Ghost's his accent so thick and gruff in comparison with his characteristically silent movement. Regardless Soap chose not to reply, instead finishing loading the gun and turning back around so that he had his back fully to Ghost. "Shepherd wants to speak to you." _

"_Why?" _

"_He wants a debrief." _

"_He can wait." Soap replied quickly, levelling his gun and firing a solitary shot. _

"_He said it was urgent…" _

"_I said…" Soap punctuated his words with two more shots, each hitting their targets dead centre. "…that he can wait." He glanced over his shoulder. "Hear me this time?" _

"_He's not going to like it…" _

"_You know…" Soap paused, firing quickly until the gun clicked empty again. He glanced at it, grunting in disgust before tossing it carelessly aside. This time he turned around to face Ghost, and as he did so he was certain to make eye contact. "Shepherd might not care that we lost three men yesterday…but I do." _

"_It's not his fault, John." _

"_Then whose is it?" Soap laughed darkly. "Shepherd gave us that intel knowing that it was scratchy at best…" _

"_And we've been on ops with bad intel before…" Ghost swallowed hard, refusing to be intimidated. He stepped forward slowly as if to assert this fact. "We made a mistake…we will __**always**__ make mistakes."_

"_Mistakes are beyond the 141." _

"_With respect sir…now you sound like Shepherd." _

"_Maybe you're right…" Soap shook his head softly, glancing around, suddenly unable to look Ghost in the eye. His fists clenched in frustration and his jaw set, Soap spoke again, except this time his voice was weaker, unsure. "It's my fault isn't it?" _

"_No…" _

"_Then who's is it? Because three men died needlessly…three of __**my **__men." _

"_We all know the risks, John…" Ghost stepped forward, a hesitant hand reaching forward and slowly gripping his right shoulder. "And we all know that ops go wrong… Sometimes…it's just how it is." _

"_How it is…" Soap said the words softly, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them again he found his gaze fixed on Ghost's hand, the contact suddenly feeling too strong, so powerful. __**Almost suffocating**__. He didn't deserve Ghost's sympathy, and he definitely didn't need him to be so close, especially when his own raw, true emotions were so exposed. Ghost was there, trying to share command, to help carry Soap's burden if only for a few minutes. But that wasn't right. Command existed for a reason. It was a sole responsibility, not meant to be shared. _

_So Soap did the only thing that he could. He pushed Ghost away. _

"_You think you know it all, don't you, Riley?" Soap snarled, pulling away from his hand. "But trust me…this can go one of two ways. You can either lose enough men to stop caring like Shepherd or you can turn into…" He shook his head and spread his arms, unable to define himself any further, if at all. "But I'm the CO, if men die then I'm the one who should have gotten them out alive!" _

"_You can't blame yourself…"_

"_Who else is there?" Soap laughed again, his tone harsher this time. "Their families will need someone to blame…and I'm the right target." _

"_You need to stop this!" Ghost half yelled back, his voice raw with frustration. "You think you're going to be able to lead anyone like this?" _

"_No…what I __**need **__Riley, is a lieutenant who doesn't try giving me orders." Soap took a decisive step forward, squaring up against Ghost using the slight height difference to his advantage. "Because I think you've forgotten who you're talking to…" _

"_Gentlemen…" A different, much older voice sounded out through the firing range, and both men span round, only to be faced by the unfazed features of General Shepherd, his piercing eyes flicking from one man to the other quickly. When he was content that he had their undivided attention the General spoke again. "When you've finished your little power struggle I'd like a word, Mactavish." _

"_Sir." Soap nodded quickly, stepping past Riley without a second glance. "We were finished here anyway." Fortunately for them both, Ghost's mask neatly hid his pained features from view, the sheer cutting ability of his words lost on Soap…_

_A week later, Ghost still insisted on speaking with Mactavish only when he really needed to or when they needed to keep up appearances around the other men. To Mactavish it was a bitter blow. With a couple of misplaced words he had managed to shatter the one thing that kept him sane within the 141. The one thing that gave him some perspective. _

The white light at the end of the tunnel. It truly existed, as it was there, a burningly bright, artificial light that seemed to tear through his eyelids. Soap's skin was cold, goose pimpled, the hairs standing on end. The complete sense of disorientation was almost intolerable, maddening. He tried to prise open his eyes but they wouldn't listen, as if his eyelashes had been tethered down together. His movements were restricted, his arms and legs confined. He wanted to run, to at least shield his eyes from the horrific light, but there was no escape. He was alone, well and truly lost amongst the light.

"John?...Hey…its alright…you're safe, alright?" That voice. It was there again, that heavy cockney accent that had been missing from his world for little over a year. There were hands on his shoulders, stilling his movements. The contact was something constant for Soap to fix onto, and slowly he lay still, allowing his lungs to take in a deep and full breath. The oxygen rush felt as if it had his head spinning, but somewhere within him, Soap found the energy to open his eyes, squinting through the light. The world suddenly came into focus, slowly at first, until a distinct black silhouette formed before his very eyes. Ghost… As soon as his eyes were open the hands on his shoulders were gone in an instant.

"You're…" He spoke out softly, but his mouth was impossibly dry and so the sound came out as more of a croak.

"Simon…remember?" He heard a soft, sarcastic laugh leave Ghost's lips. "Don't tell me I'm that easy to forget?"

"…Dead." Soap finished his sentence regardless, his brain playing catch up. He would have liked to say it a lot more eloquently, but his body felt numb and heavy, his head included.

"Alive…" Riley shook his head, leaning back in the steel chair where he was now sitting by Soap's bedside, clearly uncomfortable. "Or do you really think the world is so fucked up that someone like me would become your guardian angel?"

"Funny…" Soap groaned, slowly lifting his right hand, only to be reminded of one of his injuries by the sharp twinge of pain. On closer inspection his hand was heavily bandaged around the palm, his arm playing host to at least two I.V tubes. He visibly shuddered. If there was one thing on this earth that scared him absolutely shitless, it was hospitals.

"You're back at Nikolai's base…" Ghost nodded quickly, glancing around them. He laughed again when Soap remained silent. "Nice place you've got here…bit too cave like for me though."

"How… long was I out?"

"A while. You blacked out on me back at the base, then when we got you here you were pretty doped up on pain meds." Ghost saw the instant look of horror on Soap's face. "Relax, mate…we're talking hours here, not days. I was here the whole time."

"Y-you were?"

"Yeah well…" Riley paused, clearing his throat as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. "What else can I do? Sit here and babysit the corpse or go and face Price's million and one questions? It's hardly a tough decision."

"Not a corpse…" For one impossible second Soap felt a smile briefly flicker across his features. Sick of craning his neck to look at Ghost, he made a doomed attempt to sit up, but in his weakened state he merely wriggled painfully on the mattress. He gave Ghost a woeful look, his pride gone in seconds. "Help me sit up…"

"I don't think-"

"Just do it…" Soap groaned. "You're supposed to be babysitting me after all right?"

"They warned me that the medication might make you grumpy…" Riley moved forwards, his hands working their way under Soap's arms, the contact so warm through the thin medical shirt that he'd been forced to wear. "Obviously they don't know you well enough yet…" He adjusted his grip, looking at Soap through his mask as if for permission. "You realise this is probably gonna hurt. A lot."

"Fucking get on with it."

It might have been years of being in the Army or simply a part of who he was, but Soap had never been one to show pain unless it was absolutely necessary. And as Ghost hauled him up the bed by his arms and adjusted the pillows behind him it was no different. His body might have felt like he was on fire, but that certainly didn't mean that he planned on showing even the slightest sign of it aside from a sharp intake of pain. After all, he'd lost most of his pride simply asking for help, he sure as hell wasn't going to lose what remained in any hurry.

In took a few minutes for Soap's body to adjust, and within that time the room was plunged into a tension filled silence. Riley leant back in his chair, seemingly reluctant to make conversation and yet Soap felt as if he was brimming with questions that he didn't have the awareness or even the _energy_ to ask. And yet as time went on, the questions seemed to build, a loud and heavy presence within his skull. To make matters worse, there was so much that Soap wanted to say, so many things that he _needed_ to say. But even if he could, he wasn't even sure that he had the words to try…

"Simon…" The sudden croak of Soap's voice caused Ghost to jump.

"Yeah?"

"I…" Licking his dry lips in an attempt to stall, John desperately tried to form some semblance of order within his head. "…Need to say…something."

"What?" Ghost was almost instinctively leaning forwards. He tilted his head to one side, staring at Soap intently.

"I just think-"

"So…" As if on cue, Price's authoritative tone erupted into the room. Both men glanced quickly to the door of the room, where the Captain was stood, leaning against the doorframe, a small smile across his features. He nodded to Soap. "Still alive then?"

"Looks like it." Soap managed to croak.

"Then let's keep it that way." Price laughed softly.

"Sir."

"Speaking of which…" The older man nodded to Ghost. "I'm going to need to borrow your nurse. Riley?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I think its time for a debrief. A very _long _debrief."

"Of course, sir." Reluctantly Ghost rose from his seat and strode across the small room to the doorway, where he ducked past Price, barely even pausing to look back to Mactavish. Price however lingered, nodding to Soap with an almost fatherly look of pride. "You need rest, Soap. I know you don't like it but that's an order. You've always been pretty good at following those." He didn't wait for Soap to make any attempt to reply.

Once again finding his surroundings engulfed in silence, Soap slid down in his bed again, relishing the warmth he found beneath the sheets. The pain hammering away in the front of his forehead was beginning to be too strong to ignore, and at least if he closed his eyes the light from the room didn't seem to pierce his brain as much. Sleep suddenly felt a very welcome release, not only from his weakened state, but from the onslaught of questions and conflicting emotions that were running through his head at break neck speed.

After all, Ghost was back. And with him he had unearthed a whole spectrum of emotion that Soap had spent the last year desperately trying to forget…

**So I accidentally wrote a double chapter here, so I hope no one minds if it goes on a little too much. Either way, I just wanted to say again that I'm so grateful for all the lovely feedback and subscriptions I have received so far! They really do keep me so motivated. :) Thank you for reading, and if you have time to review I would very much appreciate that too. **

**-x-S-x- **


	4. A Different Kind Of Mask

**Warning! This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. **

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. The lyrics at the beginning are also not mine, they belong to White Lies.

**A note from Sassy: **Just wanted to say another huge thank you to everyone who is reading/reviewing/favouriting this story! You're making writing it such a pleasure for me right now! A special mention to:

**VerityA: ** I'm afraid I can't bring back Roach for you (not in this story anyway) but I am going to make a special effort to bring in as many references to him as possible for you. :)

**Reeserella: **I'm honoured by all your reviews! And I'm sorry for scaring you, but I couldn't kill off Soap. Even I'm not that cruel :P

**Greenyfox: **Thank you so much for your compliments! I'm trying to update as soon as possible too. And don't worry about your spelling, it was perfect. :)

_**

* * *

**_

"_**I wish I could say that I've got no regrets  
But saying that would be one more to pile on my desk."**_

_It had been three weeks. "The Incident" was what General Shepherd preferred to call it. However if Soap had to call it anything, he'd have dubbed it "The Failure". _

_But that just wasn't how things worked. He was expected to move on, forget what had come before and look to the future of the task force, of his men. Be strong and just get over it. After all, Shepherd had summed it up perfectly, "Men are always going to die, Mactavish."_

_It wasn't the first time that Soap had lost men whilst being in command. Throughout his military career he'd lost friends, brothers, commanding officers as well others of his rank. He sometimes even wondered why he had managed to survive when others had not. The incident on the bridge with Zakhaev still haunted him. So many of the good men who fought equally bravely beside him had died, and to this day he replayed the moment in his thoughts over and over. If he hadn't fallen then maybe Griggs might have lived, or if he'd been quicker maybe he could have just been in time to save Gaz. It was all so long ago, and yet the gut wrenching feeling of sheer guilt was still as fresh as it had ever been. He might not have been responsible, but he still lived where they had died. _

_He really wasn't a sentimental man. He didn't really keep souvenirs, or hang onto physical memories. He didn't even particularly like photographs. But since Zakhaev, he had kept one single keepsake. A leather bound black book, small enough to slip discreetly in the breast pocket of his shirt. The outside was stained, battered and slightly torn. But the contents, the pages inside were as pristine as if it had only just been bought. And on these pages was simply a list. A single column in clear black ink, each name written as clearly as his handwriting would allow. All names of people who he had either served with or who had served under him. All dead. _

_He would remember them. _

_The names began to build, not just in the book, but in his head. With every new name added to that list, the burden of his command became that little heavier. It hadn't been noticeable at first, but over time it grew and grew, chipping away at his confidence. Sometimes he just didn't feel capable of leading these men anymore… _

_He was spiralling down a thought process that he didn't want to go down right then, and so Soap reached for the whisky bottle that sat on the top of his desk, unscrewing the top quickly and taking a long, deep pull from the bottle. It was a 16 year old single malt whisky, but for all he cared it could have been liquid fire there, crackling down his throat. He spluttered slightly, leaning back in his desk chair and revelling in the heavy warmth that spread down through his torso. His Da would be turning in his grave if he knew about this blatant waste of such a good quality whisky, but Soap shrugged the feeling off quickly. The inferno that enveloped his every sense just felt so fucking __**good**__._

_Feeling calmer now, Soap lit himself a cigarette and took a deep drag, loving the instant kick from the nicotine that now mixed with his slightly intoxicated bloodstream. A smile passed across his features as he exhaled, and after a shorter second drag he let the cigarette smoulder in his left hand as he glanced back down to the abandoned, open file that lay on his desk. Another new recruit, although to be more accurate he was more a replacement. Gary Sanderson, a guy who was fresh out of the SAS after only six months within the regiment and soon to be fast tracked to the 141. _

_Soap sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette. He was hardly old himself, but the fresh recruits Shepherd seemed intent on sending him made him feel practically __**ancient**__. _

"_Sir?" A knock at his office door startled Soap, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, his gaze drawn upwards. He stayed silent, knowing full well that the voice belonged to Ghost and yet unsure of what to do. There was another knock. "Sir?" _

"…_Yeah?" _

"_I saw your light was on…"Ghost's masked face appeared around the door, his voice more nervous than Soap had heard in a long time. "Working late?" _

"_I work late a lot these days." _

"_Right…" Ghost nodded softly. "Can I…help at all?" _

"_No." _

"_Great…" Sighing slightly, Riley craned his head around the door a little more, trying to meet with Soap's gaze. "Come on, John…I'm trying to offer a fucking olive branch to you here. Give me something to work with…" _

"_Fine..." Stubbing out his cigarette, Soap gestured for Riley to come in with his free hand, trying to ignore the feeling of relief now washing over him. He'd wanted to talk to Riley much sooner than this, but his pride had stopped him from being the one to make the first move. "And close the door." _

"_Sir." Doing as he was told, Simon entered the room, pulling a chair up to Soap's desk and sitting opposite him. He nodded to the open file on the desk. "New recruit?" _

"_Looks like it." _

"_Do you mind if I…?" Riley was already reaching for the file as he asked. _

"_Not at all." Soap watched as the other man scanned the document, flicking casually through all the pages before speaking again. _

"_He's not bad. Another SAS boy then?" _

"_Yeah…there's a few of us now." Soap laughed slightly. "Cocky bastard's beaten my time in the assault course though…" _

"_But not mine." Ghost laughed, nudging Soap's arm quickly. For a second Soap laughed with him, until the room was engulfed into an awkward, tension filled silence. Both men seemed unwilling to speak, yet Ghost was the first to give in. "I'm sorry." _

"_What?" _

"_You know what." Riley nodded, his voice soft. "I was out of line. And I'm sorry." _

"_And I wasn't?" _

"_Benefit of command. You're never wrong." He tried to soften the comment with a laugh, but it fell heavy on them both. _

"_We both know that's not true." Soap shrugged. He reached up, rubbing at his sore eyes why he paused to think. "Do we have to do this?" _

"_Do what?" _

"_The whole 'I was wrong' thing." _

"_Well so far only I've admitted to being wrong…" _

"_You know what I mean, Riley." Soap bit his lip. "Can't we just…forget?" _

"_Maybe." Eyes scanning the desktop, Ghost's gaze fell upon Soap's opened bottle of whisky. "Give me some of that and I can forget a lot…" _

_A couple of swigs of whisky turned into a conversation. A conversation turned into a half arsed game of poker, which mainly involved a lot of swearing and the throwing of cards across the desk. Soap hadn't played in what felt like an age, but he had the deck of cards lying around which Riley had spotted almost instantly. He'd sworn on his honour that he was useless at poker himself, but half an hour in Soap knew that he'd been lying. Ghost definitely knew what he was doing. _

_The alcohol helped though. A lot. Soap could almost feel each new slug of whisky dull his senses that little but more, helping him regain a little humanity each and every time. Each wave of fiery liquid in his throat was a liberation, giving him a sense of freedom that he very rarely felt when on the base. After all, for a man who was so used to constantly living on a knife edge, simply letting go had become like a rush. _

_They'd known each other a long time now, but the two men rarely managed to have a conversation, away from their call signs and the 141. They were always just that, Soap and Ghost, military shadows of two different men. But that night there weren't any call signs. They swapped stories of their lives, anecdotes from before the Army or when they were on leave. They came out of the shadows and were themselves, their true selves, and in the process, this became the first conversation that John Mactavish and Simon Riley had ever truly had. _

"_Why the mask?" Mactavish suddenly found himself asking, when he had enough alcohol coursing through his system to not stop himself. He half knew the reason, and he'd seen Ghost without his mask, but the sight was still very rare. _

"_Only just noticed it?" Riley laughed, expertly shuffling the cards, although his hands were visibly clumsier than they had been before. He tried to shrug off the question. "It's hardly new…" _

"_But we're on the base." _

"_And that makes a difference because?" Ghost paused, meeting Soap's gaze. "We've all got a mask right? I just wear mine on my face." _

"_I fucking don't." _

"_You do." Riley nodded. "More than anyone else. Even Shepherd." _

"_Really? Explain."_

"_Not much to explain…You push people away so that they don't complicate things by actually getting to know you." _

"_That's not true." _

"_Isn't it?" Ghost paused. "You've got a mask alright. A strong one too. You want everyone to think that you're ok…even if you're not." _

"_You trying to analyse me, Riley?" Soap gave him a confused look. _

"_Depends…am I right?" The other man laughed softly, pushing the pile of upside down cards towards Soap. "It's you to go first." _

"…_Take it off." _

"_What?" _

"_The mask." Soap nodded gently. "And that's an order." _

"_What?...Why?"_

"_I want to see you. It's fucking creepy sat in the dark with that skull staring at me." _

"_Then toughen up." Riley laughed, shaking his head. "The mask stays." _

"_What have you got to lose?" _

"_That's not the point." _

"_Then what is?" Soap smiled triumphantly. "It's just me, right?" _

"_If I do…you won't say anything?" _

"_Ok." _

"…_Fine…" Ghost rolled his eyes, before reaching for the seam of his mask, gripping the wool tightly. "But just for the record…you can be a real annoying bastard sometimes." _

_Riley pulled the mask off in a single quick motion, dropping the material down onto his lap and trying as hard as possible to tilt his face away from Soap who seemed to be staring at him intently. And he was. It suddenly had occurred to Mactavish that he really wasn't sure what his lieutenant looked like, and even more disturbingly, he actually __**wanted**__ to know. He wasn't sure why, but Soap had a sudden fascination with Riley, not just about his life, but about everything, including his appearance. An appearance which was hardly ugly. Cropped blonde hair lead down to a shapely blonde brow, the skin that little bit paler than Soap's. Riley's eyes were blue, a bright, penetrative shade as he stared back at Soap defiantly, his chiselled jaw set within the expression. And then he noticed it. A long scar, thin, as if it had been drawn on with a fine pen. The line followed his face up from his neck, all the way up his right cheek and up to his brow, stalling at the eye socket briefly. Soap grimaced. Whatever it had been caused by, it looked painful. _

"_That scar…-" _

"_No." Riley shook his head. "You said you wouldn't say anything." _

"_Is it why you wear that mask?" _

"_Partly." _

"_That's all I get?"_

"_I don't want to talk about it." Riley sighed. "__**Really.**__" _

"_Fine." Soap leant back in his chair, although he kept his gaze fixed on Ghost. "You don't need it though." _

"_What?" _

"_Well…you know." He coughed slightly. "You're hardly hideous. To look at I mean…not that I'm the best person to ask…" _

"_Really?" Riley cocked an intrigued eyebrow. "So you wouldn't mind seeing more of me?" _

"_What?" Soap spluttered. He was caught off guard and left wondering if he'd heard him correctly. "I never said that…I just meant, that you know, you shouldn't be ashamed or anything." _

"_Right…" Simon nodded softly, looking down to the cards that now lay forgotten on the desk. "Are you a betting man, John?" _

"_Why?" _

"_Just a question." Ghost shrugged. "So…are you?" _

"_Depends on the odds I guess…" Soap smirked. "I don't really like losing." _

"_How about fair odds?" _

"_I'm listening…" _

"_We each have a pile of cards…" Ghost pointed to the pile sitting in front of Soap. "So we look at the card on top. Whoever has the highest wins. The loser has to pay a forfeit…" _

"_Forfeit?" _

"_Yeah…one given to them by the winner." _

"_Ok…"Soap paused, taking the opportunity to sip at the now almost empty bottle of whisky. "So it's more about how much I trust you if you win than the odds?" _

"_Pretty much." Riley laughed, laying his hand on top of his card. "Unless you're scared?" _

"_No chance…" Soap rolled his eyes, before grinning and reaching for his card. "You're on, mate…" _

_The one of diamonds that Soap uncovered soon wiped the smile from his face. Especially since Riley was laughed and waving an ace of spades triumphantly right I front of his nose to add insult to injury… _

"_Fuck…" _

"_Unlucky, mate..." Ghost let out another laugh, this time nudging Soap's elbow so that he'd look at him properly. "Now you're really at my mercy…" _

"_Just get on with it…" Soap shook his head. He reached for the whisky bottle again. "What's the forfeit?"_

"_I don't have time to think?" _

"_I figured that you already had one when you suggested the game." _

"_So maybe I did…" Ghost smirked, leaning in a little closer. "But you're not going to like it." _

"_I thought that was the idea?"_

"_Maybe…" Riley smiled, leaning forwards and laying both palms flat down onto the desk. "Ok…cards on the table. I want you to call me sir."_

"_You have to be kidding me?"_

"_No…that's your forfeit." _

"_It's fucking stupid!" _

"_It's still your forfeit…" Ghost smirked. "You agreed." _

"_Too bad…I'm not doing it." _

"_You have to." _

"_I don't…" _

"_Really?" Riley raised an eyebrow, leaning forward again so he could look watch Soap's features more closely. "You can't give up your authority, not even for a second?" _

"_No."_

"_And what if you needed to?" _

"_I don't…" _

"_But what if you did?" _

"_Riley!" Soap's voice came out loud and frustrated, and yet inside he was panicking. He knew that it was just a word, that it didn't really matter who he said it to. But it was also a word you had to work for, a word that represented a lot of respect. Saying it was a little like being dominated. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to be the one who was dominated by Riley… _

"_What?" _

"_I'm __**not**__ doing it." _

"_I'm just asking you to do it once…right? One word. That's all this is." _

"_Just this once?" Soap leant forwards, worrying his lip. "That's all you want?" _

"_That's all I want." _

"_Ok…" Rubbing at his temple briefly, Soap nodded, being sure to keep his eyes locked on Riley's. When he spoke again he was careful to make sure his voice was loud and clear, eyes scrutinising Riley's expression as he did so. "…Sir…" _

"_Was that so hard?"_

"_Yeah." _

"_It shouldn't be." Riley shook his head. "Because it's just me." _

"_You're my lieutenant…" _

"_I'm also Simon Riley…remember him?" He laughed softly. "You're really fucking clueless." _

"_About what?" _

"_About this." A lightening fast hand darted out, catching Soap under the chin and holding him there, keeping their faces close. Riley studied his Captain's reaction for a moment, watching him open his mouth as if to argue. But he never had the chance. As before he could utter another word, Mactavish's lips were enclosed in a surprisingly tender kiss considering how it had been initiated. _

_With the first kiss, Soap's heart lost count and skipped a beat. With the second his mind went blank. With the third his lips made the decision for him and kissed Riley back. _

_It could have been hours or seconds into that kiss, but Riley's hands were suddenly clasping Mactavish's face, pulling him closer across the desk. The strange lips were alien against his own, moving clumsily at first until they both found a rhythm that suited them both. An intense rhythm. It wasn't until Mactavish felt a sly tongue lapping across his lips that he realised that he was being dominated, the thought forcing him to pull away almost instantaneously. _

"_I…" Soap was dumb founded as leant back in his chair, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. "…What the hell was that?" _

"_Do you want me to apologise?" Simon questioned, his features remaining blank. "Because I won't either way." _

"_What I want…" Soap hesitated, subconsciously wiping at his mouth. "…doesn't matter." _

"_You sure?" Riley replied with a small smirk. "'Cos it didn't feel like that then…" _

"_Riley…" _

"_What? I didn't imagine it… you kissed me back…" _

"_That's not the point." _

"_I think it is…" Riley shook his head. "Is it that hard for you to admit?" _

"_I… I think you should leave." _

"_Now?" _

"_Now." Soap nodded sternly, watching as the other man stood slowly. He continued to watch him as Riley replaced his mask quickly, his back turned almost painfully. He was almost at the door before Soap spoke again, his voice more threatening this time. "Ghost?"_

"_What now?" _

"_I never want to hear about this again? Ever. Understood?" _

"_Understood." Ghost replied bitterly. He let out a dark laugh, turning his back to Soap completely as he opened the door. "That's my job isn't it, sir? Keeping quiet?" _

_

* * *

_

_**So…another huge chapter down. What did you think? As always I will love you eternally for any reviews you may give me! :D **_

_**-x-S-x-**_


	5. Vengeful Ghosts

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **Thank you so so much for your awesome reviews! Seriously, the number of people who have said they like my writing makes me feel so honoured! I'm going to try and reply to them all here too since you all took the time to write something! :)

**VerityA:** First I'm glad you noticed my Roach/Ghost story, in all honesty it was inspired by you telling me to bring Roach back *nods*. And thank you so much! I am generally terrified about being a bit too descriptive with my writing so that meant so much to me. As for Ghost…well I always had him down as a dirty blonde hair colour, but it was a complete guess so I am most likely very wrong. And as for Soap, well he is nothing without his authority and Ghost knows it ;)

**GubbleBum96: **Thank you! You might have noticed that I love the pairing too :P

**Reeserella: **Dominating!Ghost is very sexy and I think Soap might agree with you secretly on that one. And thank you! I always get worried that my kissing scenes are a bit awkward…

**xGhostxStealth: ** I honestly don't think thank you covers how sweet that review was! Seriously. *blushes* But thank you so much. I am definitely not going to stop writing this story anytime soon, and I just hope that you enjoy the rest of it just as much. And yay you love the constant flashbacks! Haha, please rant all you like, you made my day with that comment. Keep telling me what you think :)

**xStealthxSniperx: **Why thank you so much! I get a bit self conscious about my style sometimes (because it doesn't always work well with fanfic) so that means so much to me. :)

**UrgentOrange:** I am honoured that you still liked my style even though you don't like slash. I will write non slash too at some point. Thank you :)

**Dunedain789:** Thank you so much! I'm really glad you're enjoying it.

**Greenyfox: **I think you're so right. I see Soap as a very tough, masculine guy, but he's only human so he's got to struggle sometimes with emotions like everyone else. I hope I wrote this chapter fast enough for you! Lol :)

Again, I love you all eternally for your comments. Enjoy Chapter 5!

* * *

_Lt. Simon Riley, 2016._

His good left hand outstretched, Soap brushed his fingers across the words. Compared to the cold, stale air of the medical bay around him, the pages of the book felt strangely warm, almost alive. Soap shifted awkwardly in his bed, leaning more on the uninjured side of his body, his back hunched over the small book. The last thing he needed was Ghost or Price walking in now, or even one of Nikolai's men. This small, leather bound book was so very important to Soap, but it was also a symbol of his weakness, a sure sign of his still beating compassion. He couldn't afford for anyone to know of its existence except himself…

Slowly, but surely Soap found himself tracing Ghost's name with his index finger. He could still remember the day he'd written it; still remember experiencing every single human emotion in the space of minutes. But most of all he remembered the wrath and anger, a heady mix that had made his mind spin and his body shake. He remembered everything feeling so lost, so confused. The world had been turned on its head, and so suddenly had he found himself living in a world short of friends. He was on the run, a rogue soldier, a man purely driven by revenge and the insane belief that the truth he represented was all that he had left. He'd become a man overcome by bitter guilt, by mind numbing loss. After all losing men was one thing. But for them to be betrayed by someone he'd told them to trust? That was bitterest pill he had ever had to swallow.

To this day he still believed that Shepherd hadn't suffered enough for what he had done.

Whilst he was fighting for his life in the bone yard, Soap hadn't the chance to truly think about Shepherd's betrayal or the emptiness on the radio where once Roach and Ghost had been. Caught up in all the running, Soap had merely become an animal, resorting to his base instincts with which to survive. Mactavish had been in enough battles to know that when things got really frantic, your adrenaline took over, your reflexes sharpened and everything else just seemed to fade into obscurity. So much so that Soap could barely even remember the majority of the days fighting. What he could remember however, was the feeling afterwards, the sudden realisation of everything that had happened. He remembered it feeling like a bullet to stomach…

_Climbing out of the jeep, Soap desperately tried to catch his breath, his mind buzzing. He glanced quickly to the driver's side, where Rook's lifeless body lay, the dashboard and windscreen splattered with blood. Rook had barely been with them longer than 3 months… _

_Sick to his stomach he staggered away from the jeep, leaning against the plane wall. His vision was darkening, the need to breathe overpowering. But every time he did so, there was the same metallic stench of blood, of death, billowing up his nostrils like a constant reminder. He groaned, rubbing at his face with his gloved hands and sliding down the plane wall behind him. In a mere hour, the most elite task force in the world had been demolished to little more than himself and Price. But __**why?**_

"_You hit?" Price said suddenly, standing in front of Soap's crumpled body. He knelt down, eyes quickly scanning him for any visible wounds. _

"_No, sir." _

"_Good." The older Captain nodded, his hand giving Mactavish a quick pat on the shoulder. His own hands had lost their gloves, and the knuckles were red and raw, fingers stained with blood. "We were lucky." _

"_Lucky?" Soap shook his head, indicating over to the jeep where Rook's body still lay. "I don't think so." _

"_We're alive and we know the truth." He smiled softly. "Makes us very dangerous don't you think?" _

"_Why?" _

"_Four words, Soap. We. Will. Kill. Him." Price nodded quickly, straightening up. "I'll see to Rook. You go brief, Nikolai. We haven't much time." He offered out a hand to Soap, helping him up. _

"_Sir."_

"_Soap…" Once he was stood, Price kept a tight grip of Mactavish's wrist, forcing him to look him in the eye. When he spoke again, he was still the strong Price that Soap was proud to call his mentor, except this time his eyes were filled with a fresh kind of concern and almost fatherly affection. "I don't need to tell you that we're not going to make it out of this alive…" _

"_As long as we bring down Shepherd with us…" Soap smiled weakly. "That's good enough for me." _

_Later, Soap was hunched in a dark corner of the plane, alone for the first time since that morning's events. He was pale, his hands shaking, knees tightly tucked beneath his chin. Resting on them was his black leather book, in his right hand a mundane black biro. And yet with every new word he wrote, Soap could feel a fresh stab of pain in the pit of his stomach, a new wave of anger throwing itself across his vision, causing him to clamp his eyes tightly shut until it passed. Rook, Archer, Ozone, Scarecrow, Roach…The list of men felt like it would never end. Men who were his friends, men who saved his life, men who he had saved himself. Men he'd trained himself, men who despite being a lower rank had even managed to teach him something. All gone. All betrayed. _

_When he reached the final name on the list, Mactavish's stomach flipped, a heavy lump rising in his throat. He wanted to be sick, but he choked it back, tensing his shoulders and forbidding his body to show anymore emotion than it had to. In his eyes were stale tears, but he was too proud, too strong to actually let them fall. Instead he merely blinked hard repetitively, pushing them away as he finally forced his hands to write the words he'd been dreading… __**Lt. Simon Riley**__. Simply seeing them written was too much of an affirmation, and Soap let out a choked, primal noise, a dull scream that he managed to muffle as much as possible behind his hand. He couldn't show weakness, not now. Not even to Price. _

_He couldn't even bring himself to write 'Ghost'. After all, the word was suddenly a better description than it ever had been before._

* * *

_**So here we are again! A short chapter this one, but I still hope that you enjoyed it! And I should probably apologise for all the flashbacks as I know too many of them can make a story hard to follow. I am doing it for a reason I promise. Either way, your reviews make me write, so if you have the chance, I would love to hear what you think! :) **_

_**-x-S-x- **_


	6. A Wicked Game

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **So I've tried something a bit new, which currently is making me so worried about posting. You guys have been so lovely to me with all your reviews and so I _**hope **_that I've freshened things up rather than letting you all down! I'm not sure if I'm happy with the chapter myself come to think of it, but I'm late posting already, so we'll see how we go. As usual I'm going to reply to all the lovely comments I got for chapter 5 here, so I'll apologise in advance for going on a bit…

**VerityA:** I know I sent you a pm but I'm still going to thank you again for your longest review yet! You are so very supportive, and very kind to me about my writing after all! I agree with everything you said (although I'm not sure I could put it as eloquently as you did) and you pretty much outlined all my writing fears, so I'm really glad that I'm avoiding them! And naturally, I love Soap too. ;)

**xGhostxStealth:** Ohhhh your comments! Seriously, they are far too kind (and make me smile lots). You pretty much outlined everything I wanted to achieve in terms of Soap's emotions, and for you to say that he was still "Soap" really made me feel happy. :D And you mentioned the book! Lol, I wasn't sure if it was a bit of a step too far. I doubt myself a real lot. Either thank you soo much! I hope that there's enough flashback for you here. And keep telling me what you think :D

**Reeserella: **That was the only nice part about writing chapter five, knowing that Ghost was ok and it was all going to be ok in the end. And thank you for the emotion compliment, I worry that I go overboard sometimes…

**Dunedain789:** I'm glad you still love it. I have John down as a proud man, but in a good way if that makes sense. But either way, I think he'd appreciate the hugs, lol.

**GubbleBum96:** I'm afraid you're in another author's note… :P But thank you so very much, I'm honestly very flattered by your review and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. I'm going to keep updating as much as I can! (I'm also snowed in right now, so that helps :P)

**xStealthxSniperx: **I'm very happy with the unique in a good way description :D And I'm sorry for the sadness, its not going to be angst all the way I promise. But I'm really happy that you're still enjoying it!

OK, sorry about that, I just feel that since you guys take the time to comment I should reply. _Finally_…we shall get onto Chapter 6. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

_In some ways it was surreal. His men, altogether in one large, crowded room, relaxed and for the first time in months looking like genuine civilians. It was an evening of no masks and no uniformity all mixed with a heady combination of alcohol and freedom. So free in fact, that even Riley had left his mask back at the base… _

_It was the one thing that kept them all going during their long nights on stealth ops, or through all the strenuous training regimes. Their reward. An entire weekend off base on leave. To every single one of them, Soap included, it felt like a far off dream come true. _

_But in reality it was so much more than that. It was a taste of normality. In its very essence a reminder of the life they'd left behind when they joined the military. Possibly even a glimpse of what their lives might return to when it was all over. _

_They'd had to work for it though. Soap's three new recruits had arrived at the start of the week, and as a result the whole task force had been plunged head first back into training. Shepherd played the same cards each time. Whenever a new recruit would arrive on base, all the men would have to take part in hour after hour of combat fitness tests and endurance training. They'd be forced to run for miles in full kit and complete obligatory escape and evasion exercises, unpleasant tasks that many of them knew well from their training before the 141. It was a heavy, stressful and agonising week, something that Soap was convinced Shepherd enjoyed handing out. After all, in the space of week he was able to test all of his new recruits whilst reminding everyone else just what was still expected of them. If Soap hadn't been involved in it himself, he would have agreed that it was a __**genius**__ idea._

_Anyone within the task force with sense would use the Saturday to simply sleep; only getting up in the late afternoon to eat so that they could line their stomachs ready for the night ahead. After all, if the FNGs thought that their week had been rough so far, then they were in for a shock. Their initiation into the team was far from over, and the other men would be sure to make them pay for the weeks training with the worst hangover of their lives come Sunday morning… _

_Gary Sanderson seemed to be well on his way down that route already. They'd only been at the club for an hour or so, in fairness Soap had lost track, but the poor guy was already having pint after pint forced upon him. 'Roach' as Soap found he preferred to be called was the most popular of the FNGs, being boisterous and young enough not to take too much of the ridicule he received too hard. The others, Chemo and Bishop were a little quieter, and Soap had already made a mental note to keep an eye on them. From afar of course. After all he himself had a certain reputation to maintain… _

"_Surprise…" Ghost smiled, suddenly appearing by Soap's right. His words were slightly slurred; his eyes hazy, but he still possessed his usual arrogant smile. He eyed Soap for a moment when he didn't reply, before handing him a small tumbler full of clear liquid. "You haven't drunk enough…" _

"_How do you know?" Soap quirked an eyebrow, taking the shot glass from him. _

"_I look out for you. Call it my duty as your subordinate." Ghost laughed quickly, perhaps noting how close to the bone his comment had been. He cleared his throat, nodding to the shot glass. "Just fucking drink it. It's not poison." _

"_That an order, Riley?" _

"_Call it what you like. We're off base." As if to prove his point further, Riley threw his head back, tipping the vodka straight into his mouth, his eyes clamped shut. Over the rim of his own glass, Soap watched him swallow, oddly drawn to how his Adam's apple bobbed underneath the unfamiliar skin of his neck. He was sure to quickly tear his eyes away and drink his own when Ghost looked back to him though. _

"_I hate vodka…" The Captain visibly grimaced to accentuate this fact. _

"_Sure you do." Riley rolled his eyes, leaning back against the club wall so that he was stood next to Soap, their shoulders just touching. Soap closed his eyes momentarily, both hating and loving the slight contact simultaneously. He felt as if he should speak, but he wasn't sure what to say, especially above all the heavy bass that rippled through the club around them. The room was simply a bubble of sound, bright gemstones of light flashing in amongst the twisting limbs of the dancers, their arms throwing out shapes as they twirled through the air with reckless abandon. _

"_The boy's are having a good night…" Riley said suddenly, leaning close to Soap's right ear so that he could hear him, his breath so close that it tickled against the skin of his neck. "Roach is already hammered." _

"_Aye." Soap nodded, glancing left to the bar where Ozone had a pretty enough brunette embroiled in some kind of intimate conversation. "Look's like someone's getting lucky." _

"_At least he can…" Ghost replied, although he didn't pause long enough to allow Soap to ask him what he'd meant. "How about you?" _

"_What?" _

"_Christ, John…" Riley laughed, moving so that he was standing in front of Soap, so close that his chin brushed against his shoulder when he spoke. "Have you seen anything you like?" _

_It was an unfair question. Soap knew it, and Riley must have known it too. It seemed innocent itself in context, but the way Simon had said it, the way he'd stood in front of Soap, almost daring him to make a move said it all. And in truth, Riley wasn't that wrong. Of course Soap had seen something he liked. It was stood right there in front of him, wearing a tight black t shirt and even tighter black jeans. But he'd be damned if he was going to admit it. After all, they were drunk, the entire task force was in clear view of them and even if none of that had mattered there was still one thing in the way. This __**wasn't **__Soap. He'd never fancied men and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. Not even after the kiss which had haunted him every night for the past month… _

"_No." Soap shook his head, making sure that Riley saw the serious, almost warning look in his eyes as he did so. This wasn't right, and Ghost needed to realise that, sooner rather than later. _

"_You sure about that?" _

"_Yes…" _

"_Really sure?" Ghost smirked, clearly not backing down. He tilted his head so that it remained in Soap's field of vision, raising a cocky eyebrow. "How about now?" _

"_Give it up, Riley…" More to assert the dominance that he felt that he was losing, Soap gave Ghost's torso a push, gentle enough to go unnoticed to everyone else, but distinct enough to deter the other man. He scowled at him, watching the confusion in the drunken blue eyes that glared back at him. "Seriously …I don't know what you want…" _

"_I think you do." Ghost shook his head, laughing darkly. "You can act all fucking innocent, but you're not going to fool me." _

"_What the hell is that supposed to mean?" _

"_You know __**exactly **__what's going on here…" _

"_And what? You can read minds now? That it?" _

"_No…" Riley shook his head. "But I know you. More than you give me credit for." He glanced behind them, to where the rest of the men were chanting at Roach to down yet another pint. "What you afraid of? __**Them**__? Is that it?" Riley smirked at Soap's reaction, almost relishing the power he suddenly had over his Captain. "Why don't I just go over there and tell them that their CO likes kissing boys…-"_

"_You fucking do that…" Soap's hand was out in an instant, snatching up the tight fabric at Ghost's neck and curling it in his fist, bringing the Lieutenant to eye level, instantly silencing him. "…and I swear your days in the 141 are gonna be numbered…" _

"_Is that what it's come to? Threatening me?" Riley spat, wrenching himself from Soap's grasp. "That's low…" _

"_Then don't push me to it." Soap replied, equally as bitter. "Just fucking leave it, Riley. Ok?" _

"_Fine…" Ghost shrugged, stepping back. "But just remember…this isn't about me. It's just like all the guys say. You just can't let go can you?" _

_Soap watched Ghost leave the club, a bitter twist wrenching within his stomach. A part of him, and within his intoxicated haze he wasn't sure how big that part was, wanted to follow him, but the angry, confused part of him forced him to stay, made him keep that indifferent glare fixed across his features until he was sure Riley was gone. He hated how much Ghost could read him; how well he knew him no matter how many barriers he had or how many masks he tried to wear. But most of all he hated that Riley dared challenge him, whether it was his authority or anything else. Because like it or not, Soap wasn't used to that. He'd been in charge too long to actually remember what being challenged, __**genuinely **__challenged felt like. _

_He stayed at the club a little longer, drinking as much as his stomach would allow and trying to lose his thoughts in the incoherence that followed. When a beautiful, tall girl with short, dyed red hair approached him asking for a light, he graciously led her outside, and they talked idly over low lying clouds of cigarette smoke, but what about he could no longer remember. All he did recollect was when the girl asked him back to her flat; he'd pressed her against a wall, his mouth firmly connected to hers in what had felt like seconds… _

_After all, he __**could**__ let go. And he was determined to prove Riley wrong… _

Turning awkwardly in his bed, Soap desperately tried to shake the past from his thoughts. He hated how it was all coming back to him, every memory, every minute spent with Ghost flooding back in front of his vision, there plain for him to see. And with it he could see every misjudgement, every mistake, could hear every single word that he had said wrong. It was like an insane torture, made partly worse by the fact that Ghost was here, somewhere asleep on the base, and yet Soap literally couldn't get him out of his thoughts.

Soap felt as if he was going mad within the confines of his own bed. There was no escape, no respite from all these thoughts that continued to plague him. He had no way of distracting himself in that lonely room aside from counting the roof tiles lying directly above his head. But he had counted all 98 of them 7 times already… Groaning slightly with pain, Soap tried to close his eyes, focusing on anything to try and help himself drift off into sleep. But Riley was still there, still pointing out every single one of their mistakes.

It was insane to think that he was being haunted by the Ghost of a living man…

* * *

"_Do you have the DSM?" _

"_We got it, sir!"_

"_Good. That's one less loose end." _

"_NO!" _

"…_.."_

"_Area sanitized. All targets destroyed." _

"_Solid copy. No movement detected."_

_He felt like he'd just crawled out of hell. His body was on fire, the world was dark and the stench of blood and something much worse filled the air. His heart hammered in his chest, his mouth filled with a sticky, choking cocktail of dirt, blood and saliva. He tried to scream, to yell, to shout, but no sound was able to leave his throat, his every breath a stab of pure agony. He was alone, trapped in a frozen dusk with his body still smouldering from the fires it had somehow managed to endure. _

_And Roach. Or what had been Roach still lay beside him. The body was charred, what remained of the flesh giving off a scent that made him sick almost instantly. He seemed to gag forever, his stomach lurching and grinding, the agony of his skin and chest biting at his very sanity. For one single, brief moment in time he genuinely wished that he'd die. _

_There was no time for goodbyes, no time to bury his friend. He had to run, run through the pain, run before Shepherd came back and finished the job. Run before Makarov stumbled upon them. He __**had**__ to run, had to escape. But where? Who would take in a half dead fugitive in a country where he only spoke the bare minimum of the language? _

_There were trees at every corner, and Shepherd's laugh was never far behind, a deep thunder that penetrated his ears no matter how hard he pressed his hands to them. At every clearing there were more and more Shadow Company men, their yells almost on top of him as he ran further through the forest. They were fitter, better equipped, their shots whizzing past him furiously. It was only a matter of time until one of their bullets hit home… _

He wanted to scream, but as he sat bolt upright in the pitch black room Ghost managed to hold in the sound, his hands covering his mouth. He glanced round quickly, checking his surroundings, keen to make sure that he was safe. He sure as hell didn't feel it. The fire, Roach, even Shepherd were so fresh in his mind now that he felt trapped, suffocated by the memories that seemed to be closing in around him. He needed to focus. To remember where he was, to remember that barely metres away, Price was sleeping, that no one would be able to hurt him whilst he remained in the confines of the base. He just needed to be calm, to breathe and allow his heart rate to slow, to no longer feel as if it was about to burst right out from his ribcage.

It was the same dream. The same haunting image that had stopped him from sleeping for the past year. Whenever he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, Ghost was back there, in that ditch with Roach. All the agony he had awoken with was thrust back upon him, his scars reborn into searing wounds, his mind the same pool of confusion and insanity. He just couldn't escape it, no matter how much he ran, how far he travelled. The memory seemed to run so deep that time was only a temporary cure.

The soft sound of snoring distracted him momentarily, and Ghost glanced to his left, where Price was fast asleep on his back, completely oblivious to his turmoil. The sound was oddly comforting, the gentle rumble of his breathing acting as something for Riley to lock onto, something to remind him that no matter how imposing the darkness around him felt, he was not alone. And that notion in itself brought his thoughts crashing back to John…

If he'd been a second later, Soap would have been dead, Riley was sure of that. But he had never planned to find them there; in fact he'd half expected to never find them again. He had been running short of friends, and whatever information he had managed to secure on his friends had been poor at best. And yet, he _had_ found them. He'd been so taken aback when he saw Soap in the scope of his rifle that he'd had to watch as he was pinned down by fire, his mind not believing what his eyes were seeing. It had just felt so impossible.

Then again, his survival had seemed so unlikely that Soap genuinely thought that he was dead. So maybe Ghost was beginning to rely on impossibilities these days.

Fated or not, he'd fired the shot that saved his CO's life. Not that Soap was _just_ his CO. He was so much more than that, whether he acknowledged it or not. He was his best friend, the one and only man that Riley wanted to talk to if the world had just become that bit more intolerable. But that friendship had morphed into something else, something that Soap didn't recognise and Ghost didn't know how to describe. Ghost had never liked labels after all, so in the past he never did care if he was messing around with men or women, though generally it was the latter. In the end it was all just harmless fun. _Except with John_. Because when he had seen Soap staring down the barrel of that gun, the feeling that had coursed through Riley's system was nothing like he had ever experienced before.

It didn't help that that feeling was still there, a little dormant perhaps, but still sitting heavy at the very pit of his stomach.

Standing silently, Ghost walked through into the small washroom that was attached to the door, dampening a towel with cold water and dabbing it against his sweat drenched skin. He tried his hardest to avoid looking himself in the mirror, his eyes still not adjusted to the sight that awaited him within his reflection. Instead he washed quickly, before grabbing his black t shirt and pulling it across his head, soon following the action with his mask, his fingers quickly pulling the fabric into place around his eyes. Satisfied, he glanced back to Price, careful to make sure that the older man was still sleeping, before padding out silently through the door.

He wanted fresh air, but he knew it was a bad idea to leave the base, especially with most of Nikolai's men regarding him as suspicious. So Riley went to the next best place, following the corridor until he found himself standing outside Soap's door…

* * *

**I'm so sorry that this is such an epically long chapter! But you know, I get a bit carried away, especially after all the AWESOME reviews I receive. On that note, as always, if you fancy letting me know your thoughts on this chapter then I will love you all eternally and quite possibly send you Ghost cookies too. :)Oh and for anyone who is interested, the title of the chapter came from the song "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak. I think the lyrics sum up a lot of what I perceive the boys are feeling in this chapter.  
**

**-x-S-x- **


	7. Scar Tissue

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **I'm baaack! And after much headdesking, here *finally* is chapter 7. I'm not going to ramble too much about it, but as a warning, it's quite long, so you might want to grab a snack before you start. :P And sticking with tradition, here I go again with replying to all those lovely reviews for chapter six!

**Carovinee: **Don't worry about it, but thank you so much for the review now! I really am so flattered by your comments to a point where I don't know what to say aside from thank you. I shall keep trying to update once a day. :)

**GubbleBum96:** Another fuzzy inducing A/N mention for you :) I'm glad you liked Ghost's POV as well. There'll be much more later in the story, (i.e. Chapter 8) but for now its just Soap. Thanks so much for your support.

**xGhostxStealth:** You'll soon be sick of my cliffhangers I assure you :P But thank you so much! Again I am forced to just sit here and blush. A lot. And what you said about in character means the world to me. Its also my pet peeve (After being over descriptive lol) and I edit my stories so much because the dialogue "isn't quite Soap". Loads of Ghost's cookies for you, and I'll be sure to send you Ghost in the mail too. :P

**Dunedain789:** Your use of caplocks has made me feel most honoured and very loved, so thank you so much. As long as my characterizations are alright, then I guess I'm doing my job right. :)

**VerityA:** I think you've gathered by now that I worry too much :P But I agree with the treating characters like real people. This time they were being real people, sat there being awkward and not helping me out in the slightest! Cookies and John + blanket are on their way to you. And of course, I don't need to say how lovely your comment was…you know that right? :)

**Reeserella:** I should be the one thanking you! Fortunately I have no homework, just a dwindling social life…so its all good :P

**Greenyfox:** Awww, again you are so very kind! Thank you. :) Soap will be happy…soon. I'm afraid the boys have a bit of angst to work through before they get there though.

Whoa…there were a lot of smiley faces there. Either way, I really hope that this chapter doesn't let you guys down. Enjoy!

* * *

Soap wasn't sure when it happened, but somewhere in between his getting shot and the waves of medicated sleep, time had slowed down to an almost standstill. And lying there, alone in the darkness, definitely didn't make him feel better.

He was bored of sickeningly bland purified water and the almost plastic medical shirt that stuck to every inch of his skin. He just wanted his own clothes, some food, maybe even a small sip of some whisky. To be fair he'd settle for anything that had an actual _taste._ And fuck, what he wouldn't do to get his hands on a cigarette…

Nicotine, alcohol and warmth. It could never be said that John Mactavish didn't enjoy the simple things in life.

Whilst fantasising about chain smoking his way through a full pack of cigarettes, Soap at first failed to spot the skull that appeared through the gloom. The figure was almost effortlessly silent, the door barely making a sound as it was opened and closed. It was only until they drew closer that Soap noticed, jumping painfully in his bed.

"Fucking Christ…" He knew it was Riley, but Soap couldn't stop himself from still hissing out in shock, gripping at the sheets of his bed out of a gut reaction more than anything else. Ghost seemed equally as surprised to be seen too, jumping in his own skin. "Riley?"

"Yeah…" The lieutenant moved forwards, this time so that his silhouette was lit by the small globe of light that emanated from Soap's bedside lamp. He scratched his head awkwardly. "I…thought you'd be asleep."

"Fat chance." Soap rolled his eyes. "I sleep when they want me to." He nodded towards the cannula sticking out from his right forearm. "Price send you?"

"What?"

"You know…Price…stocky, posh, clinically insane?" Soap laughed sarcastically. "Did he send you to check on me?"

"Sort of." Ghost shrugged. "He's asleep."

"What time is it?"

"About 3am."

"Then why aren't you?"

"I'm not tired." Ghost said softly, once again finding that lying was so much easier than the truth. "Do you want me to go? So you can rest…or do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing?" He inched back slightly, already losing his nerve.

"_Stay_…" At first Soap thought he'd merely thought the word, but on realising that Ghost had stopped stock still, he suddenly realised that he had in fact said it out loud. He cleared his throat quickly, his mind struggling to cover its tracks. "I mean…if you want…No point us both being awake and alone…right?"

"I guess." Ghost nodded softly, walking round his bed to the chair at Soap's bedside and sitting down. He thankfully seemed to have missed the over eager tone that had been in Soap's voice, or if he hadn't he certainly wasn't acknowledging it. "How are you feeling?"

"It's more what I'm _not_ feeling." Soap sighed, shuffling around in his bed so he could better look at Ghost. "I'm on more meds than you can probably name. Keeps the pain down, but that's about it."

"Anything you need?"

"Cigarettes." Soap laughed quickly. "Lots and lots of cigarettes."

"You always smoked too much."

"Yeah, well lemme tell you that now is not the time to be on a fucking detox." Soap rolled his eyes, trying to hide a blatantly visible shiver.

"You're cold?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"It was a yes or no question, John."

"Fine…so I might be. But it's hardly worth fussing over…Riley?"

"Hang on…" Before Soap could complain further, Riley was standing up, silently dashing out of the room. In the slow minutes that followed, Soap was convinced that he wasn't going to be back, or that when he did return he would be flanked by Nikolai's medic threatening to inject him with something else. But, Riley did return, and this time he had a thick black jacket in his grasp. He approached Soap slowly, holding the jacket out to him in one hand, whilst the other helped the Captain sit up. "Here…put this on…"

"Riley…I…" Soap tried to mumble, but he any protest was ignored as Ghost helped guide his left arm into the jacket. "Shit…watch my I.V!" He gasped, slightly melodramatically as the right sleeve caught the tubes embedded in his arm.

"One minute…" Bending down, Riley retrieved the small pen knife he always kept hidden down his right boot and flicked out the blade, causing Soap to flinch at its sudden glint in the light of the lamp. Carefully Ghost moved the blade into position, forcing a deliberate tear in the sleeve of the jacket, making it wide enough to slip over Soap's forearm and the tubes that lay there with ease. "Better?"

"This is your favourite jacket…" Soap said slowly, glancing from the garment back to Riley as he edged back around the bed to sit down.

"_Was…_" Ghost smirked. "It was covered in your blood anyway."

"Ohh thanks." Soap quipped sarcastically, although a deep part of him truly meant it. He tried to shrug that part off, silently reminding himself that he had to remain completely self sufficient. "I thought you didn't like _'babysitting the corpse'_?"

"I never said I didn't like it." Ghost laughed softly, leaning in closer. "Besides, you're awake now. Less like a corpse."

"Cheers there mate…"

"No problem." Riley grinned from beneath his mask. "You've looked better though." He pretended to take a closer look at the Captain. "_A lot_ better."

"Says the man wearing the mask?" It had meant to be a harmless bit of banter, but instantly Soap could tell that it had struck a chord with Riley, the lieutenant leaning backwards away from him suddenly, his head hanging.

"You've _no_ idea…"

"Riley?" Soap raised a concerned eyebrow. "Am I missing something here?"

"No…" Riley shook his head, his tone flat. "It's me who's missing something."

"You're making no sense."

"Sorry…I've spent a year on my own; you forget how to make conversation." Simon laughed flatly, desperately trying to dispel the tension around him, but it didn't work. He glanced around idly, looking anywhere around the room except directly at Soap. "John…I…" He paused, sighing, his tone frustrated. "I need to show you something."

"Then show me."

"It's not as simple as that…" Riley rolled his eyes. "I _am _missing something. I'm only…half here."

"Come on, Simon…" Soap sighed softly, his good hand rubbing at his eyes. "I'm half doped up on fucking _morphine_…I could do without the riddles."

"You're not exactly making this very easy…"

"And you are?" Soap scoffed, although in the pause he rethought his tone, forcing himself to soften it. "Look…I'm sorry ok? You know I'm no good at…well, whatever this is." He gave him a weak smile.

"Neither am I." Riley shrugged slowly. He paused, obviously contemplating his next move, before reaching for his mask. Soap watched, clearly confused, as Riley took in a deep breath, his mouth moving under the thick wool as he breathed. "_Oh fuck it…_"

What Soap saw stopped him dead. Suddenly a knife to the eye was too _**good**_ for Shepherd. He should have suffered more, should have been beaten more, beaten until he could no longer breathe, no longer think without a constant agony. He should have been shown the extent of his betrayal, paid for it with hours, days of pain, anguish and torture. A quick blade to the brain was suddenly far too merciful.

The face that Soap saw was still unmistakably Riley's. There was the same crop of blonde hair, the same sturdy jaw line, the same fuller bottom lip. _But the skin_…Soap grimaced, letting out a slight hiss of breath. He wasn't horrified by what he saw, but more by what Riley must have _endured_. The skin down the right side of his face was painfully scarred, slightly reddened, the skin looking crumpled, like creased paper that had been laid down flat. The scar that had run down his face was lost amongst this new, fresher scar, a suddenly painful consequence of Shepherd's, and in some ways, Soap's own actions…

"I'm sorry." Ghost shook his head quickly, turning away so that the unscarred left side of his face was all that was visible. "I shouldn't have shown you…I just…" He tried to laugh but the sound came out more as a drawn out sigh. "I just wanted to get this over with."

"What happened?" Soap's throat was suddenly immeasurably dry.

"A fire…" Riley closed his eyes, but it was too late, the images of his dream were back upon him, a searing inferno in the back of his mind. He shuddered slightly, opening his eyes but keeping his gaze fixed to the floor. "I guess Shepherd was getting rid of the evidence. Even I don't believe he was psychotic enough to burn us _alive._"

"And Roach?"

"No…" Riley shook his head. "He was already in bad shape when we got to the extraction point. Mortars…they were everywhere. They'd already got Archer. Ozone and Scarecrow were dead back at the safehouse…" He bit his lip. "We were all that was left." The lieutenant swallowed hard, bringing his hand up to his face and wiping at his mouth for a moment before continuing, his voice remaining flat, lifeless. "I couldn't save Roach…I didn't even have the _strength_ to bury him…"

"It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" Riley laughed darkly. "Remember all that stuff you said about being the CO and getting everyone out alive? _You were right_…about the guilt…about everything. I just hadn't felt it." He blinked hard, still unable to look at Soap directly. "I don't really remember anything else…I staggered around, I passed out. I vaguely remember someone yelling at me in Russian. Then I woke up in hospital, half fucking mummified in bandages with just my kit and _these_…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of dog tags, handing them to Soap carefully.

"But these are Roach's…?"

"Exactly…" Ghost smiled weakly. "I'd told him so many fucking times not to wear them." He held out his hand, taking them from Soap almost possessively. "I'm going to give them to his family when I find them…it's the least I can do."

"He'd appreciate that." Soap nodded solemnly. "I guess we all would. Something to be remembered by." He laughed at himself, shakily. "I'm starting to sound like Price."

"You'll be starting to look like him too soon." Riley smirked, although he was already reaching for his mask again, keeping his face self consciously turned from Soap.

"You don't need to put that back on…"

"I do."

"No one's going to judge you here." John shook his head. "You know that…right?"

"It's not about them. It's about _me_." Ghost paused, pulling the mask down over his eyes as quick as he could. "And I don't want to see _this_…" He indicated at his face with one hand. "…Anymore than I have to."

"Riley…"

"_Don't_, John. Alright?" The snapping tone in Riley's voice caught Soap off guard, his words suddenly that little bit louder and bigger than they had been before. "I know what you're going to say…and I just…don't want to hear it ok?" He rolled his eyes. "You'd be wasting your time."

"Fine."

"And now you're pissed at me…_great._"

"I'm not pissed…I just don't know what you want me to say." Soap sighed. "You drop all that on me and I can't say anything about it?"

"Pretty much." Ghost paused, running an awkward hand across the top of his mask. "Can't we just forget I said anything?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"I'm not." Riley shook his head. "I've already had one debrief with Price…" He finally met Soap's gaze, his eyes almost pleading this time, penetrating straight through his mask and into John's skull. "I can't do this again…_not now_."

"Then we should talk about something else…"

"That's probably not a good idea either." Ghost shrugged, moving to stand up in a single fluid motion. "I'm keeping you awake…"

"I thought we already said I couldn't sleep?" Soap cocked an eyebrow, suddenly wondering exactly what had changed to make Riley no longer want to be around him.

"But me being here isn't helping…"

"You seem to have made your own mind up." Soap shrugged, unable to argue any further. "But go…if that's what you want." He sighed. "Not like I can stop you is it?"

"I'll come back…you just need to rest." Riley nodded quickly, although he was already halfway towards the door by this point. He opened the door, turning back to Soap in what looked to be an after thought. "And I'll…tell Price that you're ok."

"When he's awake?"

"Yeah…when he's awake."

"Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"I…" John knew what he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't quite form in his mind, never mind his throat, and Soap stalled, desperately trying to formulate some coherence from out of his mind. It didn't help knowing that everything he'd said to Riley that night seemed to be wrong either. "It was never the same without you…you know…" He paused, realising how incoherent that sounded and spoke again, desperately trying to make some sense. "All this I mean." He raised his hand to indicate all around them, but the gesture seemed a little futile by that point.

"You don't mean that…" Riley replied blankly, by now halfway out the door, his back turned to Soap. "But thanks for saying it…"

Once the door had closed, the room became enveloped back into the horrific silence that Soap was now coming to hate. White noise crackled in his ears, and as he reached to turn off his lamp, Soap was actually relieved to let the darkness wash over him, to be able to stare blankly at the ceiling and not know whether his eyes were open or closed. At least the silence gave him time to think, time to digest the odd, uncomfortable conversation they'd just shared.

He'd said all of the wrong things to Riley, but deep down John knew that didn't really matter. After all, it had become all too clear too soon that Ghost had descended very quickly into a state where everything John said would be wrong, no matter how true it might be. He'd always had a tendency to do that, and it seemed, even after everything he'd been through, he was still prone to doing the same thing. But that much John could handle. After all, he'd dealt with worse. But the worst thing of all had been finally coming to realise a small part of what Riley had actually had to endure whilst they'd be separated and how it had _scarred_ him, both mentally and physically. After all, Simon had always been so damn cocky and sure of himself, even on operations that Soap had been sure that he had a bigger ego than anyone else in the task force. This was the Ghost who'd flirt, who'd push him to the very edge of his tolerance and drive him almost insane in the process. And now, that same Ghost was so lost that he could barely even look him in the eye...

Shepherd might have been long dead, but the legacy of his actions lived on. Not only through the knife scar in Soap's stomach, but in the face of Simon Riley too…

* * *

**And this was supposed to be a short chapter… *sighs* Ok, so I know I say this a lot, but I genuinely am very worried. Most of the chapters I write aren't too bad, but this one…well let's just say writing something that is meant to be awkward is more awkward then I thought it would be. Either way, I get **_**way**_** too excited when I see that I have reviews, so if you'd like to put a big stupid smile on my face then please, click that link below. I'm also bribing Ghost into baking more special cookies for you too. He doesn't like it, but he's an attention whore deep down. **

**And of course on a serious note, if you've stuck with me and this story so far, then I am eternally honoured! :) **

**-x-S-x- **


	8. One Step Closer

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **It only feels like two minutes since I updated, but here I am again, clogging up your inboxes with another chapter. Due to the severe telling off that I got from the reviews of my last chapter, I will not apologise for the chapter being long and I will try and have some faith in myself too. Thank you for all your kinds words people! And here come the replies to all of your lovely reviews:

**Carovinee:** *hands tissues* It was supposed to be depressing yet, but I still always feel bad knowing that I made people cry. There's a bit of fluff in here though, just for you :)

**UrgentOrange:** Message received and understood. I shall keep all handwringing to an absolute minimum :P

**Dunedain789:** I am feeling very proud after your comment, and I agree, I think a bit of angst is good for the soul. As long as its pretend fanfiction angst of course. :P Enjoy your cookies! :D

**xGhostxStealth:** I do hope Ghost is behaving himself for you now :P And thank you! It saddened me when it realised that although I'd managed to save Ghost, Loose Ends was so final that he would at least have to be scarred. Damn canon. And aww! You seriously are way too kind. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter so much. And plus…smiley faces ftw! :D

**VerityA: **Please see my past replies/pms for the gushing about how lovely your compliments are :P Eitherway, I hope you enjoy this chapter…I at least *tried* to cheer up the boys…

**Reeserella:** Uh huh…writer's flu? Is it serious, doc? :P And if it helps I think I have a slight kink for Ghost's scar, it just shows how lovely and brave he is *nods* I'm glad you enjoyed it!

**Greenyfox:** They're a little happier in this chapter, but they definitely will be, we just have to give them time. And haha, I'm updating even earlier! :D

**xStealthxSniperx:** Don't worry, I'm just honoured that you review chapter 7, I don't take these things for granted. And I can pretty much assure you that if angst is your thing you should stick with me, I have a habit of writing it by accident… :P Thanks for your support!

And now…*Drum roll* Chapter 8. Enjoy!

* * *

_The constant whir of helicopter blades was ever present; the steady rumble of engines causing the entire hangar to reverberate around them. The air was chilled, the ground littered with early morning frost, the sun hanging in the sky, perched a top of low lying hills. _

"_10 minutes, gentlemen." Shepherd announced, nodding to Ghost and Price in turn as he strode past them to his own helicopter. "Let's keep this tight, ok?" _

"_Sir…" Price replied quickly, before turning to Riley. "If you see Soap, tell him that I'll be waiting by the chopper. Good luck." _

"_Sir…"_

_As Price walked off out to the chopper, Ghost suddenly felt very isolated within the confines of the hangar. The rest of the men were all suited up and ready to go; each knowing their briefs backwards, and yet he himself was still uneasy. It was just another op, but this time, something didn't feel quite __**right**__. _

_Maybe it was just the extenuating circumstances. After all, the world had been plunged into a fresh bout of fighting, two super powers colliding with earth shattering force. Even with Makarov dead, things would not change instantly. The strange feeling of irrelevance felt alien in Riley's mind, mingled amongst a rare feeling of inadequacy. He would be leading the assault on the safehouse, and although he trusted the men in his team with his life, how could Ghost be so sure that he had earned the same courtesy from them? _

_Or maybe there was another reason. The team was divided. It was his first major op in some time where Soap wouldn't be with him, and that fact alone got under Riley's skin more than anything else. He hated the idea that they'd both be fighting, but with hundreds of miles of separation in between. That meant that no matter how hard he tried, Soap's fate was completely out of Ghost's hands, as if things went wrong he would have no way of even reaching him. Ghost laughed at himself quietly. He was thinking of Soap as if he'd be lost without him, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Experience had taught him that John Mactavish was a man who could survive absolutely anything. _

_Riley shrugged. Maybe deep down he just wanted to feel like Soap actually needed __**him**__. _

_Retreating further into the hangar, Ghost made his way into the armoury, a small room tucked away in the far right corner. Originally he'd been looking for Roach, but he soon forgot that when he saw Mactavish suiting up in the corner of the room, the Captain unaware as he sheathed his combat knife and bent down to pick up his MP5K. _

"_Price's waiting for you." Riley said quickly, enjoying how Mactavish jumped at the sudden noise. The Captain twirled round; smiling by the time his gaze met Riley's. _

"_Thought he might be. Price is the kind of guy who likes to be first on the bird and first off." _

"_And you?" _

"_I just go where I'm sent, when I'm sent there." Soap nodded, indicating with his fingers for Ghost to come a little closer. "You all ready?"_

"_As I'll ever be." Riley shrugged. "I'll be better when we have Makarov." _

"_He doesn't stand a chance." Soap shook his head. "Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. As long as our intel is solid." _

"_Shepherd swears by it." _

"_Shepherd would." Soap smirked. "Even if he thought we were walking into a death trap, I'm not sure he'd tell us." The Captain winked. "Bad for morale." _

"_True." Ghost grinned beneath his mask. "I don't think I'd __**want**__ to know anyway…I like surprises." _

"_Really?" Mactavish raised an eyebrow. "I'll have to remember that." _

"_Thought you already knew, sir." Ghost laughed, turning on his heel. "I should get going before Archer starts complaining." He bit his lip underneath his mask, weighing up whether or not he should say more as he looked over his shoulder to Soap. "Just...look after yourself out there, ok?" _

"_Are you worried about me, Riley?" _

"_I didn't say that." _

"_You implied it." _

"_Negative, sir." Riley laughed uneasily. "I just can't be arsed with having to handle a new Captain."_

"_You never know…Shepherd might promote you…" _

"_Doubt that." Ghost shook his head, before adjusting his sunglasses. "He knows as well as I do that we don't see eye to eye." _

"_Then I'll just have to make sure I make it back." Soap smirked, stepping closer to Riley by the door. He seemed bored of playing stupid now, and Ghost couldn't help but wonder if his Captain had seen all the way through his jokes to the underlying insecurities that drove them. Mactavish reached out, giving Riley's left shoulder a caring squeeze. Ghost expected the contact to be lost in seconds, but it lingered, sparking confusion deep at the back of his mind. "You're a damn good soldier, Ghost." _

"_Tell me something I don't know…" _

"_Typical." Soap rolled his eyes, ignoring the lieutenant's false arrogance. "Seriously though, Ghost. I trust you to do the right thing today, Roach trusts you…hell, even Archer trusts you." The Captain let out a soft sigh, worrying his lip with his teeth for a moment before continuing. "But…I need you to take care too." _

"_I always do, John." _

"_Yeah but…" Mactavish rubbed at his eyes. "Look…I don't know how to fucking say this…" He reached upwards with his free hand, toying with the base of Ghost's mask, lifting it slowly, tentatively, yet the movement was deliberate enough for Riley to notice it. "…Maybe…maybe you were right. Ok? The things you've said about me." The Captain shrugged, his eyes fixed to Riley's mouth. "You were right. Ok, Ghost? As much as it fucking pains me to say it…You were right." _

"_Really?" Riley's mouth was so dry that the word barely passed from his lips. "You're sure…?" _

"_As sure as I can be." Soap shook his head slightly. "Its complicated…you know that?" _

"_Yeah." _

"_And I'm not promising anything." This time Soap was sure to meet Ghost's gaze. "I __**can't**__. But I can't keep pretending to hate you either…" _

"_You were never very good at it." Riley managed to quip. _

"_There's a reason I became a soldier." Soap smirked. "It's a lot of things, but at least it's honest." _

"_Gentlemen! One minute!" Shepherd's voice was a rude guest, crashing through the room and destroying everything in its path. _

"_I should go." Ghost nodded quickly, though he didn't make any attempt to move. "You should too." _

"_Wait…" Soap's right hand was curled around the back of Ghost's neck before he even realised he'd done it, Ghost's brain a conflicting mess of confusion and uncertainty. He watched as Soap continued to stare at him for a second longer, his features impossible for Ghost to read effectively. "Life's too fucking short…" _

_Before he could reply, Ghost's face was pulled forward into a clumsy kiss, the chapped lips he found there dry and dominating. Staggering slightly from the sudden imbalance, Riley tried to find his feet, hands gripping Mactavish's face whilst his brain tried to catch up. He was kissing John, the Captain he had almost entirely given up all hope on. And Soap had __**started**__ it, had at least admitted something, however vague it might have been. Riley laughed to himself as a rough tongue grazed against his own. Sure, he liked surprises, but he hadn't seen this one coming in a million years… _

_Soap pulled away with a grin, looking more relaxed in those few fleeting moments than he had done in months. As if suddenly realising what he'd done, he let go of Riley, his hands withdrawing as if he had just touched something white hot. But the look of anger and sheer insecurity that Riley had half expected to see in his eyes simply wasn't there. And __**that **__was a huge improvement. _

"_Right…" Soap quickly coughed, side stepping around Ghost towards the door of the armoury. "I…err…guess I'll see you on the other side, eh?" He smiled, nodding quickly, a moment's hesitation in his movements. But whatever else the Captain seemed to want to say, he decided against it, ducking out of the door and jogging through the hangar to his chopper instead. _

_Ghost remembered watching him closely. Little had he known that the next time he would see Soap would be a year later down the scope of his rifle… _

He was awake, but pretending that he wasn't. His eyes closed, mask firmly in place, Riley laid back on his wire framed bed, his feet crossed at the ankle, arms folded tightly across his chest. To his left, he could hear Price moving around, the faint gush of running water as the man showered, followed by the odd rustle and zipping noise as he got dressed. But Riley kept his eyes firmly shut. It was a trick he'd learnt living in the barracks when he'd first joined the Army. If people thought you were asleep, they'd leave you be. And if people left you alone, then you finally had the chance to actually _think_.

His conversation with John had gone inconceivably wrong. Sure, Riley had imagined much worse scenarios over the last year, but at least they were just in his head, figments of his own imagination and insecurities. _But this was real. _He'd said everything the way he'd not wanted to say it, avoided all the questions that he knew Soap deserved an answer to. And even worse, he'd actually shrugged off Soap's attempts to reassure him, reflecting his own poor self image onto John with no real cause. Riley inwardly kicked himself, biting down hard on his lip. _The man was in a fucking hospital bed for Christ's sake…_

But what else could he do? Soap might have been kidding himself, but Riley was a realist, especially now. And to be brutally honest, if Soap hadn'tbeen sure about how he felt towards Riley when he was _whole_, then how could he ever be sure now?

"Oi!" A pile of fabric suddenly landed on Ghost's head and he jumped, opening his eyes in an instant. Standing over him was Price, an amused smile spread across his still slightly damp features. "Rise and shine." He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he walked over to his own bed and sat down to lace his boots.

"What are these?"

"Last time I checked? _Clothes_." Price rolled his eyes, craning his head up to look at Ghost for a second. "Mine."

"And…?"

"And yours are practically in pieces." The Captain laughed, before nodding towards the washroom on the far wall. "Shower's through there. Get yourself cleaned up, mate."

* * *

For a short time, Ghost was in heaven.

He had to admit that the warm water of the shower did soothe his mind as well as his body. He'd been travelling for just short of 8 months, and in that time showers had sometimes been few and far between, large amounts of warm water soon becoming a luxury. At the time Riley hadn't been all that bothered, after all, he'd had to put up with some pretty crude forms of hygiene during some operations. But now that he was stood there, slowly being swallowed up by a cascade of warm, seemingly endless water, Riley realised what he'd been missing. After all, sometimes you had to have things back to realise just how much you'd missed them in the first place…

When he stepped out of the washroom, clean, shaven and wearing Price's slightly too short clothes (the older Captain was an inch or so shorter than he after all), Ghost felt human again. Or at least alive. To be honest then he would have settled for anything that made him feel that little less like an animal.

"Brought you some food." Price nodded to the plate of toast sitting on Riley's bed expectantly. He took a deep drag from the cigarette that smouldered in his left hand, smiling gently. "Thought you'd be hungry."

"Thanks, sir."

"Enough of the sir." Price shook his head. "Not an officer anymore am I?" He took in another deep lungful of smoke. "It's _Price_…or if you really have to, John."

"Ok." Riley smiled weakly in acknowledgement, sitting down and taking a few bites from one of the slices of toast. Price however seemed to simply stare at him. "Something wrong?"

"Soap's asked to see you." The Captain had a knowing look in his eyes, but Ghost chose to ignore it.

"Any reason?"

"Maybe to continue your conversation from last night?" He laughed as Ghost looked at him, taken a back. "You were gone a good hour, did you really expect me to not notice?"

"I guess not."

"It's none of my business anyway." Leaning back against his pillows, Price gave the lieutenant a small nod. "But I said I'd pass on the message."

"Thanks." Ghost took a few more bites from his toast, more to dispel the tension in the room rather than because he was particularly hungry. He glanced to Price, who had just finished his cigarette, staring at his hand as he stubbed the object out onto the floor. A sudden thought hit him, and Ghost smiled as the idea passed through his mind. "Price?"

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you get those?"

"Guy on the base gets them for me." The Captain shrugged. "Why?"

"Do you think I could have a pack?"

"Didn't realise you smoked…"

"It's been that kind of week." Ghost laughed, watching the Captain reach for the pack lying beside his bed and tossing it across the small room to him.

"Have those…only just opened 'em." He nodded, reaching for his lighter and tossing it to Ghost as well. "You'll be needing that too."

"Thanks." Ghost nodded quickly, stuffing the items into his pocket and heading for the door. He looked to Price before he left, but the Captain seemed subdued, his eyes skimming through a pile of papers that seemed to be in Russian. Ghost smiled to himself; at least he could slip away without any further questions.

Patting the packet of cigarettes in his pocket, Ghost set off down the corridor, his footsteps headed in the opposite direction to the exit. After all, he didn't smoke. But he knew someone who did…

* * *

**So even when I set out to write a happier chapter, it ends up with a bit of angst thrown in too. But I did spend most of the chapter listening to Hans Zimmer's soundtrack to **_**Black Hawk Down … **_**so can you really blame me? Either way, I shall sit here and wait expectantly for your reviews. You are going to review aren't you? Because you really don't want to imagine the disappointed look on Ghost's face if you don't right? :P **

**Price has taken over cookie baking duty too, which means all reviews get a hug from Ghost. :) It's a tough job, but someone has to do it… **

**And of course, in all seriousness, a big thank you from me for actually sticking with me this far. It really means a lot to me and my writing confidence. :) **

**-x-S-x- **


	9. All I Need

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **Another chapter, another A/N from me to you. And this ramble actually has a point. As a random heads up more than anything, I know I've been pretty good at updating this story so far, but I'm afraid I might be a little slower over the next couple of days. Basically, I've hurt my shoulder/back, which is making sitting at my computer pretty damn painful. I'm going to try my hardest to keep writing and updating frequently though, I just ask you to be a teeny bit patient with me. :)

And on that note, its shout out time again my lovely reviewers!

**VerityA:** *big, if gentle, hugs back* I don't always write fast if it helps, and chapter nine has been rewritten more times than I care to admit. Anyway, it's all about the quality rather than the speed! Big yays for Soap and Ghost growing on you, I must be corrupting you slowly :P And haha, I love your reviews either way, so no worries.

**xGhostxStealth: **Again, you are very, very lovely, so thank you. And yes, Price is nothing if not sneaky, but we love him really. Or at least I do in a strange way. And sooo true about Hans Zimmer, he's a hero of mine in turns of the music he creates. I have so much love for that man.

**Carovinee:** Hugs and cookies make any day immeasurably better :) And I'm glad you liked the "epic" kiss (if you look hard enough you find another one soon :P) and the fluff/angst combo. It seems to be the only thing I write. :P Thank you!

**God-Damned-Dog:** You are brilliant. Seriously, your reviews have me grinning like an idiot (in a good way of course). Thank you so very much. And on a random note, reviewing is your choice, do so as often or as rarely as you like. I guarantee it won't be repetitive. From my perspective it's just great hearing feedback and being able to talk to fellow fans. :)

**Dunedain789:** THANK YOU! I was feeling the capslock love again, so there you go. And thank you, I really do feel so proud and honoured to get such lovely reviews. I hope that you continue to enjoy my characterisations too! They're the bit I work the hardest on. :)

**xStealthxSniperx:** Ghost hugs are all round, yes. :D I'm glad you liked my rare attempt at humour too, although Price just seems to be able to carry it off. And thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Although I read 'slash flashback" simply as 'slashback'. I think that might be what I refer to them as from now on. :)

**Reeserella:** Uh oh…I think it's too advanced for me to be cured, so I guess I'm going to be sick with this dreaded writer's flu for a while. *Sighs* And sure the cookies might be burnt, but Price in an apron? Priceless. :D Thanks for the lovely comment!

But hey, ready up…here comes chapter 9!

* * *

_Hospitals._ The mere word made Soap cringe. They were overly bright, white, stale buildings filled with lifeless rooms, in his opinion the least inspiring place for anyone to be fighting for their life in. Even worse, his distaste for hospitals rooted all the way back to his earliest of memories. He could still see it now, the ward, the rigid beds all lined up side by side, filled with the emaciated shadows of people. Real people. His Da's hand tightening on his as they walked through them all, nurses flitting amongst them and getting in the way. And his Ma, lying there, unresponsive in the furthest bed, straggly strands of brown hair mere wisps around her face. Most of all he hated the fact that when he thought of his mother, the first, and usually the only image he had was of her lying in that bed.

She'd died a week later and ever since Soap had vowed never to step into a hospital ever again for as long as he lived. Of course, in reality that was impossible. But the gut wrenching disgust from all those years ago remained steadfast in his mind, a permanent reminder flickering at the back of his thoughts.

And now, with fresh yells streaming from his mouth, Soap had decided he had had enough…

"No! You hear me? No more!" Soap felt as if he was going in circles as he inched away from the medic, leaning as far to the other side of the bed as possible. Their conversation had been going back and forth for the past twenty minutes, and Soap was so close to smashing his head against a wall just to simply get some relief from the monotony of it all. "We've been through this…"

"It is better if you rest." The medic nodded, moving slightly closer to his bedside. "You will heal faster."

"Fine…then I'll rest." Soap shook his head. "But I don't want anymore of whatever that is…" He nodded over to his empty I.V fluid bag that the poor medic had been trying to replace before the whole argument had started. "And I don't want _these_…" He pointed to the cannulas in his forearm. "…Either. You get me?"

"But is better for you." The medic paused. "Without this you cannot have any more pain killers."

"Fine…no more pain killers." Soap shrugged defiantly. "I just don't want to hooked up to this thing anymore."

"There is also a risk of dehydration…"

"Great…I'm good with risks." Soap muttered. "I think I can remember to drink."

"Is not that simple. I think it would be better to wait…"

"What fucking happened to 'the patient is always right', eh?"

"Actually…Its 'the customer is always right'." A new voice erupted into the room, thick with a familiar cockney accent. Soap turned his head, seeing Ghost stood in the doorway, his arm resting almost arrogantly against the doorframe as he spoke, almost an image of the 'old' Riley. Ghost laughed at Soap's expression, glancing between the medic and the Captain. "Hate to burst your bubble there, John."

"He is not listening." The medic sighed, desperately looking to Ghost for some kind of support.

"Then he never will." Riley shook his head, laughing gently. "Do as he says."

"But I think-"

"Do you want him to rest or not?" Riley watched the medic pause, obviously thinking. "He can't do that if he's complaining." He watched as the doctor hung his head despairingly, before turning round to start removing the cannula from Soap's arm. The process was finished in minutes, and the medic gathered up his things, nodding to Ghost as he left the room.

"Make sure he drinks. At least he will listen to you, yes?" When Ghost stayed silent the medic rolled his eyes, striding from the room with an angry barrage of Russian flowing from his mouth.

"I thought's he'd never fucking leave." Soap grimaced, flexing his newly freed right arm, his left hand examining the slight bruises left at the I.V sites. Laughing softly to himself he tilted his arm to show Riley triumphantly. "_Freedom_."

"You're a stupid twat, you know that?" Ghost shook his head.

"You were on my side a second ago."

"Only because I could hear you on the other side of the base." Riley grinned, although due to his mask the action was lost on Soap. "But the guy does know what he's talking about."

"Nah…" Soap shrugged, wrinkling his nose. "I'm alive…I'm not bleeding anymore. I figure I can handle a bit of pain." To try and illustrate this he attempted to sit up, but the action was far more painful than he expected it to be and he let out a small gasp.

"_Obviously._"

"Why are you here anyway? Aside from wanting to laugh at the cripple?"

"I brought you a present." The lieutenant replied quickly. "Call it a peace offering."

"For what?"

"John…" Ghost scoffed. "Don't play stupid with me." He reached into the back pocket of his trousers, producing the packet of cigarettes and dangling it in front of Soap. "And don't say I don't do anything for you…"

"Shit…" Soap's look of sheer excitement was much like a five year old's on Christmas morning, with the addition of a scruffy Mohawk and a decent amount of stubble. "I owe you one, mate."

"Technically it's Price you owe. They're his."

"I owe Price enough already." Soap laughed, watching Riley expectantly. "So… do I get one or are you just going to stand there and tease me?"

"It's tempting." Riley smirked, but he stepped forwards, sitting on the edge of Soap's bed. Slipping one slender cigarette from the packet he held it in front of Soap's mouth. "Now…_open wide_…" He was sure to make his tone as patronising as possible.

"Oh fuck off." Soap tried to grab the cigarette off him, but he was too slow and Riley caught his good hand with ease, immobilising it with a grip to the wrist.

"So you don't want it after all?" He moved the cigarette away.

"You're an evil cu-"

"Angry much?" Riley laughed, pushing the cigarette in between Soap's lips to silence him, whilst fishing the lighter out of his other pocket. "Shut it or I'll go get that medic you love so much." He smirked, flicking the lighter open and lighting the cigarette, whilst been thankful that whilst Soap had it in his mouth he couldn't assault him with a cascade of indignant abuse. When John finally took the cigarette in between his own freed fingers, Riley was sure to quickly move out of the way, just in case Soap did still have it within him to lash out. After all, it had always been a hazard for anyone who dared rile the Captain…

Soap however, was lost amongst wave after wave of nicotine. He'd never really thought of himself as being reliant on his smokes, but the few days he'd spent cold turkey had convinced him that an existence without the occasional cigarette really just wasn't worth it. His drags were heavy and deep, the cigarette shrinking in size dramatically until Soap was finished, stubbing it out on a metal section of his hospital bed. His nerves now steadied, Soap looked at Riley with new eyes.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Riley nodded graciously. "Like I said, think of it as a peace offering."

"Yeah…" Soap paused, worrying his lip. "Look…about last night…"

"No." Ghost quickly shook his head. "I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

"I know…and I'm not going to ask anymore." Soap shrugged, leaning back against his pillows. "I just didn't know what to say half the time…"

"And I did?" Ghost laughed gently. "I've not had long enough to work out how to tell people…never mind if I should or not." He sighed. "We both said things we probably shouldn't have right?"

"I guess…"

"So in my book that makes us equal." Ghost nodded. "_End of_." He straightened up quickly. "You need anything?"

"My clothes…there's some over there." Soap pointed to the far corner of the room, where a pile of his more casual looking gear, mainly comprising of some beige combat trousers and a black t-shirt lay folded on a table. Scooping them up, Ghost brought them over, dumping them beside Soap on the bed. As he did so, the Captain cocked an eyebrow, glancing at him confused. "Speaking of clothes…did yours shrink or something?"

"Their Price's." Riley sighed, not sure why he felt a twinge of embarrassment.

"Ahhh…" Soap smirked knowingly. "Remind me to lend you some of mine…they'll fit you better." He reached for the t shirt beside him.

"You need a hand?"

"Very funny." Soap rolled his eyes. "I think I can _manage_ to dress myself."

"If you say so." Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Ghost took a couple of steps back, turning his head slightly so that he could only see Soap in his peripheral vision. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Captain try to lift his arms, before groaning and freezing. Riley rolled his eyes. He wondered how long it would take for someone as stubborn as Soap to realise just how painful dressing with a gunshot wound to the torso actually was. Subconsciously Riley raised his right arm, cradling the spot in his side where Shepherd's bullet had struck, mere centimetres from fatal. He swallowed. He was speaking from experience…

"You're loving this aren't you?" Soap grunted, only managing to get halfway out of the medical shirt that he still wore. He had half a mind to just battle through the pain and save his pride, but the thought of making things even worse and having to spend more time in a hospital bed deterred him.

"Loving what?" The innocence is Ghost's voice was _almost_ convincing.

"Me being crippled." Soap grimaced. "Never liked seeing me as your superior, did you?"

"True." Turning back to face him, Riley stepped towards slowly. "But challenging you is more fun when you can actually _fight_ back."

"I'd give you a good run for your money now."

"I don't doubt that." Riley laughed, reaching for the medical shirt half dangling from Soap's torso. "This your way of telling me you want some help?"

"I'm not going to ask…" Soap sighed. "If that's what you're waiting for."

"Good enough for me." Laughing to himself, Riley gently lifted up the plastic garment, quickly discarding it to the floor and leaving Soap sitting in his boxers. As he reached for Soap's t-shirt, Ghost took a split second to take in the man's torso, noting how most of the muscle was concealed by a thick layer of bandages. A patch of scarred, tanned skin remained uncovered on his shoulder however, and Riley unwittingly found himself resting his hand there, the muscle tensing beneath his calloused touch. His thumb found a long, thin scar, a raised edge that ran across Soap's collar bone, and Ghost found himself automatically tracing its length with his thumb, his mind acting on impulse. The body below him remained tense, but didn't argue, Soap himself dumbfounded by what was happening. In fairness, he didn't know what to believe anymore. The night before, Riley had been a different man and now…well, now he wasn't sure which Ghost he was actually speaking to.

_He decided to find out. _

With his left hand, Soap reached upwards, finding the neck of Ghost's shirt and pulling him downwards, the action a little rougher and more possessive than he first planned. The hand on his shoulder remained, but it gripped tighter, the short nails digging white crescents into his skin. Maintaining the tight grasp on his collar with his good hand, Soap tried to get a clear look into Ghost's eyes, concerned by how at first they desperately tried to avoid his gaze. But his persistence won out in the end, and once rewarded with an icy blue stare, Soap dared move further. Slowly, as if he was moving so not to scare either of them, Soap brought up his right injured hand, using the least painful of his fingers to flick up the fabric of Ghost's mask, revealing the combination of smooth and scarred skin that lay below. About halfway, Soap paused, letting his hand take in the strange texture, again asking himself just how Ghost had managed to survive such an ordeal. The hesitation proved to be his downfall though, as now he had stopped, Soap suddenly became unsure of whether he should carry on. After all, was Ghost genuinely submitting to him or was he was just doing so out of a strange feeling of guilt? Soap suddenly couldn't be sure.

_It was now or never. _When Soap paused, Riley took full advantage, pressing forwards so that their lips finally touched. Although he knew what he really wanted, Ghost was uncertain of how to proceed, and so the kiss became tentative, much gentler and in some ways more uncomfortable than any that they had shared before. Gradually he dared to move his lips against Soap's, and thankfully the Captain complied, copying the motion, finally making an attempt to kiss the lieutenant back. And yet, it was still all so unsure, almost non committal, as if neither man truly trusted himself to be fully lost within the act. After all, before these rare occurrences had all been about dominance, unknown lust and breaking boundaries. But now…now it all felt so _alien_. After all, Ghost himself hadn't been with anyone since his betrayal, something that made him feel like a fish that was now suffocating out in the open air. What if he just wasn't _enough_ anymore?

Having been distracted, Ghost suddenly became aware of Soap's hand slowly lifting the rest of his mask, pushing the fabric, his only protection, away inch by inch. Terror instantly swept through the lieutenant's body, his head pulling away almost of his own accord, his pulse racing just that little bit faster as he reached to replace his mask. He couldn't…not yet. He wasn't ready, hadn't had the chance to prepare himself. _Not for this._

"No…" His voice was a mere whisper as Ghost stared down at Soap, his heart feeling as if it was throwing itself angrily at his ribcage. He held his hands out wide, speaking more to himself than anything else. "I _can't_ do this…"

"…You just were…"

"I didn't think…" Riley shook his head slowly, his thoughts almost stumbling over one another. He blinked hard, picking one question out of a thousand. "Why did you do that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Soap replied with a raised eyebrow. He stood up slowly, now face to face with the lieutenant. "I thought –"

"That was a long time ago, John." Ghost bit his lip, instinctively knowing for the first time what Soap was about to say. "Another life…"

"Does that really change things?"

"Yes…maybe…I don't know." Riley shrugged, his head hanging. "I've…_changed, _John. You're still the same."

"I'm not…" Soap swallowed hard. "You really think that what Shepherd did didn't change me too?" He paused, looking at Ghost with honest eyes. "You might not be able to see it….but what he did… Well, let's just say it changed everything for me too." He sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the spot as he reached out, his left hand resting on Ghost's forearm. "I never stopped-"

Soap cut off mid sentence, instead staring over Riley's shoulder. The door to his room was open again, a figure standing patiently, watching, their arms folded. Suddenly aware of himself again, Soap let his arm drop away from Riley heavily as if it were made out of concrete. "…Price. How long you been there, mate?"

"Not long." The older Captain nodded, running his tongue across his teeth as his gaze slipped between the two of them. "I _did_ knock."

"Need to be louder then." Soap laughed, although Ghost could detect a warning tone hidden beneath his good humour. By this point he had turned round, and was busy avoiding the second knowing look he'd received from Price that morning.

"Maybe." Price shrugged, stepping away from the door frame. "I heard you were up anyway." He chuckled, finally tearing his gaze from Ghost, his features softening. "Artem is livid."

"Artem…?"

"The medic." Price rolled his eyes. "He came complaining to me about you being a stubborn bastard." He grinned. "Apparently you're the epitome of the saying 'pride comes before a fall'."

"Well you know me…"

"Indeed…_too well._" Price half smirked. "Anyway since you're up you might as well make yourself useful. You too, Ghost. Nikolai wants to talk tactics."

"Now?"

"Now." The older man nodded. "Get yourself dressed. I'll see you both in the operations room in ten minutes." And with another, strained look in Ghost's direction, Price was back tracking down the corridor, leaving the room in an eerie, uncomfortable silence.

"Here…" Clearing his throat, Ghost held Soap's t shirt out in front of him, nodding for the Captain to slip his arms through. As he did so, Riley knew what he desperately wanted to ask, the words almost tingling on his tongue. He waited until pulling down Soap's t shirt, careful to avoid the bandages as much as possible. "What were you saying? Before Price showed up I mean…"

"It doesn't matter." Soap replied with a mutter.

"I want to know."

"When does what we _want _come into it?" Soap laughed darkly, sitting down and beginning to pull on his trousers, his eyes half meeting Riley's. "We don't have time for this now…"

"And if we make time?"

"You deaf?" Soap grunted grumpily. "If we're not in the ops room then Price is gonna have my head."

"I didn't mean now…" Riley rolled his eyes. "Later?"

"Depends." Soap sighed, pulling on his boots quickly and ignoring the bitter burn of pain as he did so. "You actually going to talk to me this time?"

"…I will if you will."

"Then you're on." The Captain nodded decisively. He stood slowly, not even trying to cover his grimace as another heavy wave of agony shot through him. He nodded to Ghost, indicating towards the door with his hand as he did so. "But let's just try and survive this briefing first…"

* * *

**Ok, so absolutely no emotional blackmail asking you for your reviews this chapter. None. Promise. Except…well Price did burn his hands making you all cookies last time, so maybe you could take pity on him and click that 'review' button….just for him. Plus, Ghost is still offering out hugs to anyone who wants one… :) **

**And always, thank you so very much for reading this far. I truly hope you've enjoyed it. Until next time, take care. :D **

**-x-S-x-**


	10. Tactical Thinking

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **We're in to double figures! And on a slightly soppy note, I have to really say a big thank you for the pile of reviews I got for chapter 9! You all made me feel really fuzzy and warm inside, so I decided to stop being so pathetic, dosed myself on painkillers and managed to write another chapter for you to keep my updating streak going. I'm so lucky to have you guys motivating me. :D And on that note, its reply time. This could take a while…

**VerityA:** No worrying about me, I'm just being a bit pathetic. :P Although cookies do help. Even if I have to console a sobbing Price. :P Soap is definitely such a baby underneath it all. Either that or a teenage boy. I swear his hormones are still running riot. :P

**Carovinee:** Ghost hugs all round again, yes. :) As for my talent…when I shall just sit here and blush a lot. If you like the epic kisses, all I can say is that chapter 11 might be your favourite chapter. :P Thanks for the lovely comment!

**Reeserella:** I think Price is who Roach takes after for clumsiness. And if I'm honest, I really think Soap and Ghost need you there to sort them out. They're useless really… :P And thank you for the get well wishes too :D

**UrgentOrange:** Thank you! I _**love**_ writing Ghost's dialogue, so that really has made me grin a little too much. Hope you managed to get hold of the 141 xmas card too. :)

**xGhostxStealth:** You might not be saying that after reading this chapter, since I'm now attempting a real plot and will most likely drown in plot holes :P I am sooo glad you like the dialogue, and the characterisations! *hugs you* You know what that means to me. And your reviews are way awesome, so thank you so so much.

**Dunedain789: **I find myself looking forward to your caplocks love! And your Price's new favourite too for taking such good care of him. Thanks so much though, I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much!

**xStealthxSniperx:** Slashbacks ftw! I'll have to try and write some more so we can use the new word more often. I'm so glad you liked the chapter; I think the boys work the best with a mix of angst, humour and sexual tension. On that note, they will get there I promise… *cough* chapter 11 *cough*. :D

**GubbleBum96:** I feel so very very sorry for you! You sound as if you're having a nightmare of a weekend there *hugs* I hope that you manage to get rid of it soon… As for the obstacles, they will definitely sort them out, and its been a nightmare for me because I've just wanted to push them together, but sadly its not as simple as that for them… I'm rambling too now. Either way, I did read it all, and I'm very honoured that you still wrote a review even though you've had so little sleep. Try and get some rest, and enjoy your cookies and Ghost hugs! :)

**Greenyfox:** Haha its fine really, I'm just so happy whenever I get a review. Its great to know you're still liking the story. You are so very kind, and I hope that the story keeps you intrigued in the future chapters. And don't worry…they will be happy, very soon. :D

And now…drum roll please…chapter 10! Enjoy!

* * *

To call it an 'Operations room' was a tad optimistic.

In its essence it was a plain, box shaped room, the walls an encroaching and unfriendly shade of grey. On three of the four walls there was a desk which housed at least two different computer monitors, each desk manned by one of Nikolai's men. There was a single radio transmitter sat on a table alongside the only other free wall, but it was mostly silent, apart from the occasional hiss and crackle. Along each and every expanse of wall were charts and maps, post –it notes attached to each one with scrawled notes written in predominantly in Russian. But the real hub of the room was in the centre, where a large, oak table lay, an object that looked as if it belonged more in an antiques show than within a base of military operations.

In short, compared to the luxury he had grown accustomed to with the 141, Soap's new centre of operations was stripped down to its most basic.

He was beginning to regret the lack of morphine, as Soap staggered into the room flanked by Ghost, the pain in his side burning with every step he took. He wanted to scream, frustration at his pathetic state coursing through his veins, but he held it back, trying to even convince Riley of his "healthy" condition. After all, as soon as Soap stepped through the door of the operations room he made sure to alter his posture, no longer hunched over, but stood tall, the extension of the wound in his side a constant agony. But if Soap had learnt one thing in command, it was that he should never show weakness; never allow his men the chance to worry about his condition. And today that meant looking every inch the healthy man. Or as healthy as he could anyway. The sweat staining his brow and the dark circles around his eyes told a different story entirely…

Leaning against the oak table, Soap glanced around to the other men who were gathered around them. He recognised them all, although unlike Price he had a tendency to forget names, a constant embarrassment to himself. Directly opposite him stood Price and Nikolai, the Russian busily explaining something to the Captain under hushed tones. As was his custom, Nikolai was stood in his beige pilot's uniform, a characteristic shared with a couple of the other men in the room. The others were dressed more like mercenaries, dressed in more practical jeans and shirts, although most of them still wore bullet proof vests even when on the base. Soap laughed to himself. They might have been in hiding from enemies that outnumbered them at least ten thousand to one, but at least Nikolai and his men were _always_ prepared.

"Da…" Nikolai spoke loudly, immediately attracting the attention of everyone else, even the men who had previously been sat typing away at their computer terminals. "It is good to see you back with us, my friend." He nodded graciously to Soap, who smiled in return, trying to avoid the almost contemptuous stare of the medic Artem from across the table. "You are better, yes?"

"I'll survive."

"Good… good!" Nikolai laughed, before turning his attention to Riley. "And Ghost…You have come at the right time. We are needing more friends now than ever before."

"Enough of the pleasantries, mate…" Price shook his head, interrupting abruptly although he was sure to smile to the Russian in the process.

"Apologies, Price." Nikolai nodded, before turning back to the men and addressing the whole room. "Thanks to Price and Mactavish we now have the means to defend ourselves. But that is no good with the war outside that we cannot end."

"Then why _try_?" A thin, tall man spoke out, his skin creased and weathered around the eyes and mouth. "If there's nothing that we can do to stop it, why don't we wait for the two sides to demolish each other like last time?"

"The stakes are higher this time, Lev." Nikolai warned, raising an eyebrow.

"Besides…" Price interrupted, folding his arms. "We're the only people aside from Makarov who know the truth about how this started." He paused, running a hand across his mouth before continuing, almost as if he was withholding his own anger. "Shepherd might be long gone, but _his truth_ still remains."

"So we discredit a dead man?" Ghost spoke out, a hand rubbing across the top of his masked head. "How the hell do we manage that?"

"The same way Shepherd planned to keep himself safe." Price smiled, sliding a picture of Makarov across the table to the men. "We find _him_."

"Except we have no idea where _he_ is." Soap rolled his eyes. "As far as we know, Makarov's location died with Shepherd."

"Sounds to me like we just need more intel." Price shrugged. "We've done it before."

"We weren't on the world's most wanted list then, old man." Soap sighed.

"Shepherd took the DSM…" Ghost said softly. "That thing was a mine of intel in itself."

"But it's most likely destroyed." Price shook his head. "Shepherd was hardly going to leave something that incriminating lying around."

"So basically…we're _fucked_."

"Not quite, Soap." Price smirked, sliding a map across the table this time. "Site Hotel Bravo." He pointed to it with his index finger, tapping the paper repeatedly. "Shepherd was using this as his base of operations for Shadow Company, and he was pretty damn keen to keep it all hush hush." He smiled to Soap in particular. "If there's any intel that he's left behind, it's got to be _here_."

"You're losing your mind." Soap shook his head. "You saw the tonne of C4 in that control room, there'll be nothing left…"

"…Wait…" Riley was hunched over the plans to Site Hotel Bravo, one hand lifted up to silence Mactavish. He traced his finger along the blueprints, tapping when he found what he was looking for. "Gotcha!"

"Ghost?" Price was looking on intrigued. "Care to explain?"

"We don't need the control room…" Riley looked up, shaking his head, a hint of triumph clear in his voice. "Sure, if you want to access information then it's your first stop…but…" He pointed to the same spot on the plans before continuing. "We could use the mainframe just as easily as long as it's operational. It's big, makes a lot of noise, so no one in their right mind would put it in the control room." He glanced at Soap. "If it was left undamaged by the blast then it might be possible to patch into it…"

"And then what?" Soap scoffed. "Search for a folder named _'Dirty secrets'_?"

"No…but it's the best shot at intel we have. Besides…" Riley laughed softly. "Even if the files are encrypted, with enough time I can get around that."

"All this is possible, my friend? Really?" Nikolai looked at Riley intrigued.

"In theory…yeah. I can't be dead certain though."

"But that doesn't solve the other problem…" Soap shrugged. "Even if this thing is working…or can be _made _to work, we'd still need to get in. And Shepherd bombed the shit out of that place trying to kill me and Price." He shook his head defeated. "Half the tunnels will be collapsed."

"Unless we went in the same way as last time." Price suggested, pointing to the plans. "That was the other side of the base; the chances are those tunnels would have been sheltered from the blasts."

"And what if Shadow Company have already looted the place for intel?" Soap glared at the other Captain defiantly.

"Then all we'll have lost is the fuel to get us there and back." Price shrugged. "So far this is the only lead to Makarov we have."

"It is good plan, my friends." Nikolai nodded, stepping into the feud for the fear that it might escalate. "Lev, Markov, you will give Captain Price ground support." He waited for the two men to nod in acknowledgement. "The rest of my men will stay here, to see if they can gather any more intel."

"It'll be a stealth op." Price ordered, his eyes fixed to the two men. "We still need to lie low, just in case."

"Da…" Nikolai smiled. "It will take time for me to prepare your transport."

"Tomorrow morning then?" Price enquired.

"Yes, friend." Nikolai smiled, before turning to his men and giving them a sharp order in Russian that resulted in most of them dispersing from the room almost instantly. Nikolai himself nodded to Price quickly, before leaving the operations room himself after his men.

"Where are they all headed?" Riley asked.

"By the sounds of it?" Price smiled. "Breakfast."

"So, we're really going back to Hotel Bravo?" Soap raised an eyebrow, almost glaring at Price across the table. "We have no idea what state it's in, whether it's been retaken or searched but we're just going to head in there _anyway_?"

"We're out of other options, Soap." Price shrugged dismissively. "We need to know the full extent of what Shepherd did, just exactly what his ties to Makarov were."

"I thought we already knew." Soap rolled his eyes. "We were pawns, Makarov was a pawn. Shepherd played us all just to incite the world into fighting."

"So it's our word against a dead man's." Price paused, rubbing at his temple. "A dead man who just so happens to be a fucking war hero." He laughed darkly. "Who would you believe?"

"That's not the point…"

"No, the point is; do you want to put an end to this or not?" He watched as Soap remained silent, smiling almost triumphantly. "Besides, I'm the one leading this op."

"I'm still a part of it."

"You're not." Price shook his head. "You're not even _going back_ to Hotel Bravo."

"What?"

"You're suspended from active duty, effective immediately."

"You've got no right to say that…"

"No, I haven't." Price sighed. "But you're in no fit state to walk, let alone fight. Don't think you can fool me."

"Price!"

"Just because Artem let you get out of bed doesn't mean you're ready to go back out there." Price interrupted, his voice sharp as he caught Soap's glare, returning it with a pacifying stare of his own. "I'm not going to let you risk your life just for the sake of your own pride."

"So what? You're going out there alone?"

"Not alone." Price shook his head. "Ghost is coming with me."

"Sir…?"

"I warned you about that." Price laughed, although when he spoke again his tone was more serious. "You have the best technical knowledge out of all of us, and I know for a fact that you were the one managed to hack into the Gulag systems…"

"With respect, this is going to be a lot more hi-tech. The hardware at the Gulag was ancient…"

"But you still think it can be done?"

"If I have more time…" Ghost paused, glancing back quickly to the plans. "Yeah."

"Then I need you with me." Price nodded quickly. "Sorry, but I'm not really asking you here, mate."

"I came here to help." Ghost nodded, glancing back to Soap briefly, not liking the anger he saw written in the Captain's features. "I'll go where I'm sent."

"Good."

"And so I get no say in this?" Soap muttered, glaring back and forth now from Price to Riley.

"Not this time." Price shook his head. "This time Soap, you're going to listen to reason _and_ keep your head down. Even if I have to get Artem to sedate you first." The older Captain gave him a sly smile. "And believe me, the man's more than willing…"

Soap's only response was to grunt angrily with frustration, his left hand hitting out against the oak table with a heavy slam. He fixed Price with his worst, most disgusted look, as if waiting for him to smile and reconsider. But the older man didn't yield, and instead Soap was forced to storm out of the room, a stream of swears spilling from his mouth.

"Now look who's throwing his toys out of the pram." Price turned to Riley, giving him a lop sided smile. "He really doesn't realise it's for his own good. But he will…"

* * *

**Ok, so this time I am going to be completely honest with you guys. When I started writing this series, I never really thought that I would get to chapter 10, because I wasn't sure if my idea was solid enough, or if people would like my writing or my characterisations. But your reviews have given me such a huge confidence boost, and so I've made a big (and scary) decision to keep the story going and actually start introducing a little more MW3 plot into it. Which is scary, because I never really intended to get that deeply into all this.**

**Either way, I'm nothing if not ambitious. Not only content with writing a story that tackles betrayal, disfigurement and the odd bit of confusion over sexuality I've decided to throw in a plot too. It could all go **_**very**_** wrong. But I hope that you guys all continue to support me by reading/reviewing/favouriting. Because you're making writing this a complete joy. So thank you so so much. **

**So I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know it was a bit slash lite, but there's a reason for that… Now get over here for your Ghost and Soap (yes I drafted him in too) hugs. :) **

**-x-S-x-**

_Oh…and for those of you looking for something else to read, might I recommend a fic by VerityA called 'What Came After', something that she very kindly wrote for me. :) If you're looking for something angsty that tackles Ghost's immediate survival with a Soap/Ghost edge than this might just be the one shot fic for you. :) _


	11. Against All Odds

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Also! This chapter is rated M for explicit (ish) scenes. You have been warned. **_

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **So a quick apology. I was a bit late with this chapter for two main reasons. Firstly that evil thing called real life got in the way, and second because this chapter was a bitch to write. Either way, in my slight absence I was lucky enough to get some lovely reviews, which as always I am going to try and give a coherent response to now… (hey…I did say _try_, so no promises…)

**Carovinee:** Making people smile is all the aim of the game. And thank you, I have to say the idea wasn't easy, I feel sorry for the people who are actually writing MW3 since they have to come up with something a bit more plausible. Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

**GubbleBum96:** Thank you! And the worst would be that you guys would hate it, but hopefully it won't come to that. *hugs* I also hope that you've managed to get rid of the demon baby of doom! Haha :)

**VerityA:** He does need a rest, but he's too bloody stubborn to take one. You'd think two near death experiences in the space of a year would have convinced him of that. And no problem about the A/N's, you deserve them. Also, the hilarity of beating down Price with his own baking tray, the image alone made me laugh. :P

**Dunedain789: **I seriously love you! You make me feel way way better. I'm glad you think the plot is solid, although I'm afraid there is very little plot in this, it's a little more of a interlude. And feel free to take Price and his burnt baking off my hands anytime :P I'm going to have to read your fic too, although if I can manage sounding vaguely sensible plot wise you should be fine! :D

**Reeserella:** Well that makes two of us. I'm kinda glad it is going further, but I just hope I can keep doing the characters justice. I wonder if your feeling was correct… :P

**xStealthxSniperx:** I hope chapter 11 is what you hoped for! And when I say 'Nikolai's men' I'm really more thinking of them as his fellow soldiers/friends/mercenaries. I don't really see them as a huge military organisation, but more as a group of men who have broken away due to political differences etc. Either way, it was the only plausible way I could think of portraying Nikolai, as in MW2 he has access to his plane and his pave low, and so I figured he would have to have some people helping him maintain them etc. Just my odd logic really. Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**duvalia:** Hey, catch up all you like, its nice knowing I have new people accompanying me on this weird fanfic ride. And lol, I find action sequences so hard to write though, but thank you! *blush* I hope you enjoy the rest of the chapters, let me know what you think. :)

**Greenyfox:** Well I can't comment on Price and Ghost's operation yet, but don't worry, Soap should be fine. :) I'm sorry for updating late though!

**Kiminoloko: **Aww thank you! You made me blush one hell of a lot with that comment. And agreed, Soap/Ghost is full of win, I love them (As you might have noticed… :P) And thank you for you concern too *hugs* I hope you enjoy the rest.

And now? Yes, its chapter 11!

* * *

"John?"

_It was as if he was poking a caged animal with a stick_.

Not that Ghost was particularly scared of that animal. But he would still prefer to make it out of any conversation they might have with as few bruises as possible.

"John?" Again there was no response.

It had been early afternoon when he'd first realised just how pissed Soap was. After all, Riley had spent most of his morning talking with Price, being sprayed in breadcrumbs as the older Captain quizzed him further about the next day's op over their breakfast. But there had been no sign of Soap. The hours had gone on until lunch, and there had still been no sign of him, even though Price was shrugging off his absence lightly.

"He'll come around. You'll see."

But Ghost did see. He knew Soap, and in some ways he could understand just what John was feeling. After all, they were men who were trained to _react_, men who had existed off the buzz of fighting for longer than they cared to remember. In their very essence, they were men of action. And to be left behind? Well that was a hard knock to take…

If a man could be stripped down to his raw humanity, then Riley had been close. With every layer of skin that he had lacked upon his body a raw emotion had been exposed, angry, red and agonising. In the first few days he was a man of rage. He'd screamed at the nurses as they changed the dressings on his burns, he'd yelled at the doctors with unquenchable wrath. He'd hated the world and everything in it simply because it felt as if _it_ hated him, betrayal stinging like alcohol seeping into his wounds. Then as his burns began to scab over and he was further confined to his bed, a more depressed state of mind swept across him, almost in acceptance of his situation. His thoughts would linger for hours on end on Roach, on Archer and the others. How he might have been able to _save _them. How he had managed to survive against all the odds and yet they had not. He wouldn't speak, wouldn't eat, would barely even sleep. All because he felt too guilty to simply _be alive_. This continued for days, maybe even weeks until another psychological state had taken him equally as strong, after what felt like lifetimes cooped up inside the same four white washed walls. A devouring_ frustration_. The wrath was back, raging through him, but this time he was unable to let it out. Instead it was building, every fresh pump of his heart refreshing the feeling within his veins. He _wanted_ to be back in the fight. He was sick of hiding, of cowering in a hospital licking his wounds. He wanted vengeance, justice… _peace_. And yet, he couldn't have them. His mind might have been strong, but his body was weak, fragile and still needing constant attention to prevent infection and further damage. And so Ghost too had been caged, confined, left behind with the sheer desire to be fighting alongside his friends…

"John?" He was knocking at the Captain's door a third time, listening closely for any movement. His heart thudded for a moment, thoughts of John being passed out and bleeding again blurring through his brain. He shook them quickly away and knocked harder. "For fuck's sake…just let me in, John…"

There were some rustlings of movement from behind the door, but eventually it opened, revealing Soap, standing petulantly in its wake.

"If Price sent you-"

"He didn't." Riley shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead or something."

"_Great_." Soap rolled his eyes. "So even you think I'm an invalid now?"

"I didn't say that."

"Could have fooled me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You really don't know?" John gave him a wicked laugh, reaching up and rubbing as his eyes, the skin around them still tainted with dark circles.

"John…" Riley warned.

"Where were you when Price was laying in to me, eh?" Soap raised an eyebrow expectantly, his arms tightly folded across his chest.

"You're kidding me, right?" Riley laughed. "Look at yourself for a minute, John. Do you really think you could walk further than 100 metres? Never mind fucking _run_."

"I'm not a cripple…"

"No, you're a prideful, arrogant bastard." Riley sighed. "But we're still gonna try to protect you anyway. Even if it is from yourself." He leant against the door frame, his eyes fixed to Soap's defiantly. "You gonna let me in?"

"I'm not sure I have a choice." Soap rolled his eyes, although he stood aside so that Riley could walk past him, letting out a heavy sigh as he closed the door behind him.

The room was unmistakably Soap's, the heavy scent of whisky and cigarette smoke hitting Ghost's nostrils as soon as he was inside. The Captain hadn't changed much over time either, his untidy nature still apparent as the room was littered with what little possessions he had, each of them thrown carelessly across the cement floor. Riley couldn't help but notice that it was smaller than Captain Price's, as there was only the room for one bed which lay conveniently in the middle of the room, padded out with a thin mattress and two sleeping bags. It was a dank and confined space too, the walls mainly plain and grey aside from a single Russian pin up, her lustful brown eyed gaze staring straight back at Riley.

"Cosy…" He laughed sarcastically, glancing around the small room. He stepped towards Soap's bed, staring at a discreet oval picture of a pretty brunette stuck to the wall beside it. It was heavily crumpled, as if it had been folded up for a long time. "Girlfriend?"

"_Sister_." Soap shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "Was there anything else, Riley?"

"Depends." The lieutenant shrugged. "You gonna calm down?"

"I am calm…"

"Like hell you are…" Ghost shook his head. "Seriously John, its just one op."

"This is my fight as much as it's yours." The Captain bit his lip, clenching his good fist. "And Price just thinks that he's still in charge…"

"He is." Riley laughed softly. "Price's always going to be in charge whether we like it or not. And he _should_ be." He shrugged. "He's the most ruthless. He knows Makarov, and you might not want to admit it…but he knows you too."

"Fuck off." Soap rolled his eyes, walking over to his bed and sitting down. "Price is being intolerable."

"No…" Riley paused, moving so that he was stood in front of Soap, his arms folded. "Right now _you're_ the intolerable one. Have been ever since you stopped getting that morphine high." He laughed gently. "It wouldn't kill you to show a little weakness, you know."

"It might." John replied finally, although his voice was softener, much less harsh. "I _should_ be out there…"

"And you will be. You've not been written off."

"Fucking feels like it."

"Not for long." Riley shrugged, sitting down next to him. "Come on, if I was the one who had been shot within an inch of their life, it'd all be different wouldn't it?" He grinned. "Talk about double standards."

"Don't be so sure." Soap shook his head, finally rewarding Ghost with a smirk. "You've got me all wrong…"

"_Yeah, yeah_…" Ghost gave the Captain a quick nudge to his uninjured side. "Keep telling yourself that, mate." They both continued to laugh, until Riley spoke again, his words plunging the room into an almost immediate silence. "Sometimes I think I know you better than you do." He gave Soap a deliberate look. "Isn't that what you were saying earlier?"

"Riley…" Soap gave him a confused look in return. "You want to do this _now_?"

"The _talking_ thing?" The lieutenant nodded. "We said later."

"I didn't think you meant-" Soap shook his head despairingly. "Fine. But I've got one condition, first."

"What?"

"I want to talk to you, not Ghost."

"Huh?"

"The mask." Soap nodded. "Take it off."

"John…"

"What?" Soap shook his head. "I_ know_ what you look like, Riley."

"Then I don't need to take it off."

"I never said I _needed_ you to." Mactavish shrugged, staring as intently as he dared into Riley's eyes. "But I _want_ you to."

"Why?"

"Don't you think it's unfair that I have to guess what you're feeling the whole time?" Soap rolled his eyes quickly, leaning a little closer to Riley. "That mask does more than protect your face."

"Well right now, I'm scowling. What does that tell you?"

"That you're being pathetic." Soap sighed, rubbing a hand across his own dry lips. "Take it off or I'll take it off for you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Don't tempt me." John replied with knowing smirk.

"You wouldn't dare…"

If Soap hadn't been so badly injured, Ghost would have anticipated what was to come next. As it was, he didn't, meaning that when Soap leapt forwards towards him, he was completely wrong footed. Mactavish had launched himself at him so quickly that Riley was sure that he would have to be in agony, but the Captain seemed to be ignoring it as he pinned Riley down below him on the bed, his knees wedging his hips in place. His stronger, healthy left hand quickly found its way to Riley's right shoulder, a knowing thumb digging deep into the soft tissue and sending a spark of pain up into Ghost's head. It was a move that proved beyond words how well Soap knew him, the site of an old injury that the Captain was now painfully manipulating to gain advantage. Riley was forced to acknowledge this with a gasp as he struggled, trying to kick up his legs to gain leverage. But Mactavish had him too cleverly pinned, and whilst his steady left hand kept a firm pressure against Riley's shoulder to pacify him, the bandaged right hand crept up and discarded his mask as quickly as possible.

"You were the one who said you liked me fighting back…" Soap raised a cocky eyebrow, although the slight breathless nature of his voice gave away the pain that the manoeuvre had put him through. He watched Riley, unmasked now below him snarl. "_Now_ we can talk."

"If you fucking get off me…" Riley almost spat, defeat a feeling that made his stomach churn. To prove his point further he wriggled again, earning him another twist of Mactavish's thumb against his shoulder.

"And if I don't?" There was another appearance of that blatantly arrogant raised eyebrow.

"Then we won't talk."

"_Good._"

There was no backing out this time. The bed was behind him, stopping him from pulling away, and Soap's grip so tight on him that when Riley felt that same, harsh mouth on his, he knew that _this was it, _thatthere really was no more turning back. Not that deep down he really wanted there to be. But he wasn't going to give in so easily. Submissive was not a word that Simon Riley liked, and so as Soap's mouth flickered across his own, a mess of different textures and pressures, he tried his damndest to not kiss him back. Even when John's tongue lapped across his bottom lip, sending electric tingles straight down his body did he not submit, keeping his eyes firmly shut and his jaw locked. But Soap was as dominate as he was stubborn, and a sharp bite to his bottom lip riled Ghost as much as it aroused him. In a mindless blur he opened his mouth, and at the same time gave Soap chance to dominate him further.

It had been a lifetime since he'd been kissed like this, and Riley would have been mad not to relish the feeling of Soap's mouth, moving with his own. The Captain had been obviously smoking again, the sour taste of cigarettes on his tongue, something that Ghost surprisingly found himself savouring. Lost in the moment, he managed to free his arms from underneath Mactavish, bringing them up to hold his face, almost stopping him from moving away or coming to his senses. Because whatever _this was_, Riley really didn't want it to stop.

When Soap stopped to breathe and turned his attentions to the pulse point below Riley's jaw, Ghost knew that he now had the advantage. Whilst Soap was distracted and with a deft push of his hips, Riley managed to flip them over, although even in his haze he was careful to not rest his full weight onto Soap's chest, ever aware of the extent of the damage below him. Grinning, Riley supported his weight on the two hands either side of Soap's head, his legs firmly keeping the Captain in place with no chance of reversal. A smirk wrote its way across his features as Riley leant down, kissing Soap slowly, lazily, an act which only cemented just how in control he truly was. It was an action that soon reaped its rewards, as the body beneath him writhed, grinding up into him in a single move that made Riley's head spin. A thick groan was his only reply, and Ghost leant down closer, biting a trail along the side of Mactavish's neck, watching carefully as the skin turned to pink before his very eyes. He grinned as the body below him shuddered, biting down again until the marks became purple, before swiping his tongue across the darkening bruises and sucking ever so lightly as he did so. The body below him practically came undone.

Their movements becoming more frantic, control became something that was easily won and lost. Clothes were torn away and shed in mere seconds, limbs pinned and bodies flipped intermittently. Both were desperate to dominate each other, to bring the other to their knees first, yet one would always become distracted, allowing for the other to gain a tactical advantage. It was a game of wins and losses after all, and in the end Riley found himself on top, managing to gain the upper hand through sheer experience and persistence. But it had all been worth it, and when he finally pushed forward into Soap and white spots flurried in front of his vision, he was hit by a strange affirmation.

He might not have felt _whole_, he might never truly feel it again. But right then, at least he was _enough_.

* * *

**Ok, there it is, the dreaded chapter 11. I realise with the slash it might not be a hit with everyone, and for those of you wanting more plot, it will appear very soon in chapter 12. But in the mean time, Soap needs your reviews. After all he's been left behind on a base all alone and is feeling very low and crippled. So give that big old ego of his a stroke and tell us what you think! :) Ghost is back baking, though this time its triple chocolate cake as a treat… :P **

**And of course, in all seriousness, (with what remains of my sanity) I just want to say the usual thank you for sticking with me this far. :) You guys are awesome. **

**-x-S-x- **


	12. Breach

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **It's nearly 3.30am, and I have just finished writing...I'm feeling pretty dedicated (And tired...). I apologise for this chapter being later than usual, but with the run up to Christmas and the party season things are getting a little busier for me. Either way, here is another chapter, and yes, before someone tells me, I know I suck at writing action scenes. But I've had a go, honest. :)

And of course, I would be no one without my lovely reviews!

**VerityA: **Well, I am beginning to ask myself that very question, who does need a plot when you have Soap and Ghost? :P And don't worry, knowing me and my rambling, this fic has some life in it yet. :)

**xGhostxStealth:** Hey, don't worry about it, I'm just glad that you managed to catch up. And as always, thank you so much, you really are very lovely. :D I'm glad that you're liking the plot, and I am over the moon that you're enjoying the GhostxSoap stuff too… And it came across as loving! Yay! Its hard to write loving when you have two alpha males :S Thank you so so much! :)

**Reeserella:** Ahh, well I'm glad your feeling was correct. Cake is definitely not a lie either. :P Thanks for reviewing.

**GubbleBum96:** I think Soap needs your distraction techniques… And yay for you finally getting rid of the demon baby! *hugs all round* I'm glad that you enjoyed my not so explicit slash anyway. I like to leave a little to the imagination usually, so I was a bit worried. Thanks for the lovely review!

**Greenyfox: **I told you they'd be happy! Lol and yeah, poor Soap, trapped and left behind. :( As for Ghost and Price, you'll have to read on. *hugs*

**Yunalein:** Haha, I think Soap needs all the distractions he can have. I'm so pleased that you like my story though, and thank you for the lovely comment about my writing style! I know I need to reply to your message too, which I will. :)

**duvalia:** I'm going to pm a reply so that I don't spoil anything for you.

**xStealthxSniperx:** Haha well I am very glad that you enjoyed the way the smut turned out. Thank you for the review as always. :)

**Strude:** I'm replying to both your comments here. I'm glad you liked chapter five, and especially that you thought it was powerful, since that was what I working for. And you used my favourite word ever lol, 'eloquently'. As for chapter eleven, well it was a tease, but you know, teasing is hot. :) Either way, I hope you keep enjoying the story and telling me what you think! Thank you :)

_So without further ado, let's get going with chapter 12!_

* * *

Right now, this was the last place he wanted to be.

Sighing, Riley looked around, taking in the dull, dark surroundings of the Pave Low interior. The air was stale and surprisingly hot considering that it was early morning, the conditions cramped as the four of them knelt in a huddle, holding on for dear life. Above him he could hear the whir of the blades, their every rotation producing a strange beat, which sounded through the metal of the craft, making it almost feel as if it had a heart. Directly beside him Price and Lev were smoking, speaking to each other in low voices that he was unable to make out. Markov, a tall, very young looking blonde man was to Ghost's left, checking over his gun.

"You miss him don't you?" When Markov spoke, his voice had a distinct accent, yet the English beneath it was near perfect.

"Who?"

"The man you lost." Markov smiled, nodding to Ghost's hands. The lieutenant hadn't particularly realised it, but he was holding Roach's dog tags in his hands, turning them over and over between his fingers. "They're his…yes?"

"H-how did you know?"

"The others used to mention you a lot…Roach and Ghost." He shrugged lightly. "When they first brought in your friend, John, he had been stabbed and was delirious. He kept yelling your names." Nodding softly, Markov put down his gun, giving the gentlest of smiles to Ghost. "You were close?"

"We were _all_ close; I guess that's how it gets when you save each other's lives ten times over." Riley paused, although he didn't dwell on why he found the other man so trustworthy. "We lost others that day too…but Roach…he was my best friend." The lieutenant hung his head. "I guess I treated him like a younger brother sometimes."

"My older brother…Yasha, he was always the strong one." Markov smiled softly. "I hated it. He'd always take care of me…I hated that too. Even when we were grown and he was a soldier."

"Were you close?"

"Very." The Russian nodded. "But we were very different. He chose to fight and make my father proud, I chose to study. But…" Markov shook his head. "He died. More than a year ago in America." He swallowed hard. "I miss him too."

"That why you're here?"

"Partly. I chose to fight for him…but I never really believed in this war." He shrugged, nodding to Price and Lev. "I'm glad that I'm not alone anymore."

Riley nodded, choosing to remain silent and tucking the dog tags quickly back into the breast pocket of his shirt. He brought up his knees, resting his arms on them and then resting his head on his forearms, allowing the rock of the helicopter to gently move his body from side to side. Like Markov, he liked the feeling that he was no longer alone. After all, he'd spent a year travelling, on his own most of the time apart from the few favours he managed to call in from old contacts he'd had with the 141 and prior to that the SAS. He'd spent months with just his own company, locked in his own thoughts, tormented by Soap and Roach only in his sparse dreams. But now, now he had been thrust back into a group of people, a team, feeling almost as if he had indeed been brought back into the world of the living. He hadn't realised just how lonely he was until he had been back amongst people just like him.

Maybe even people who _understood _him.

The helicopter jerked suddenly, and Riley's back was thrown against the metal casing, bites and bruises from the night before whining with pain. Rather than acknowledge the pain, Ghost smiled at the memory, fortunate that the wool of his mask conveniently hid the action. After all, every sore on his body was now evidence that he was still _something_, that a little of the old Simon Riley still remained. The scratches and love bites to his skin were more than wounds gained from an evenly matched adversary. They were reminders that he'd let John in, both physically and mentally, that finally they'd managed to get past words and beyond awkward conversations. And there was no denying that it hadn't felt good, better than good even. _Fucking fantastic_ to be more precise…

"My friends…" Nikolai's voice rang out around them, the helicopter beginning to lose altitude. "…70 seconds."

Riley reached for his ACR, pulling it across so that it was sat, steadfast next to him. He nodded to Price, who was also readying himself, barking orders and reminders before their landing. But if Riley was truly honest, his thoughts weren't really in that Pave Low anymore. They were back at base, resting with a Captain who probably wasn't even awake yet.

As he'd thought, this was the _last_ place that Riley wanted to be right then…

* * *

Time was practically stood still.

Checking his watch for the fifth time in the last five minutes, Soap shook his head, drumming his fingers idly on the desk that sat in front of him. They should have been approaching Site Hotel Bravo by now and Nikolai hadn't checked in. For the second time, Soap reached forward, checking the radio transmitter before glancing again at his watch. He rolled his eyes. Even _**he**_ was aware of how impatient he was being.

"The equipment is fine." Artem said loudly, his face riddled with irritation. He stared at Soap for a second longer. "And you _should _be resting…"

"I'm _sat down_." Soap replied with an equally indignant look. He and Artem still weren't seeing eye to eye, especially with him incessantly turning down all the pain medication that was offered to him.

"At least is something." Artem rolled his eyes, running his right hand across the short, dark beard that highlighted his jaw line. "But you should still be in bed…"

_Bed. _As if on cue images of Riley flung themselves across his vision and Soap had to struggle to hold back a shudder, his mind trying to subdue the thoughts with something more innocent. There was no denying that Soap's body now felt like it had been to hell and back, but then again there was no denying that it hadn't been worth it either. The memories were as hazy as they were vivid, but Soap knew all too well that they'd been able to fuck several times, even with his injuries burning in agony along with each movement. He didn't really like to admit it, but it had been a long time since _anyone_ had made him feel like that, and even with the constant pain that had steadily built within him Soap just hadn't been able to tell himself to _stop_.

Not that he wasn't pissed with Riley. Even in his sated haze, Soap had been aware of them falling asleep together, lying side by side so that only their arms touched. But he'd woken up feeling cheap, since Riley had already got up, dressed and met up with Price before Soap had even been vaguely conscious. He knew that the lieutenant would have done it to avoid more of an argument about Soap being left behind, but in reality Soap had been almost looking forward to that. Deep down he knew it was pointless, but if he was going to be made to stay behind then the least the others could do would be to put up with his endless bitching…

"_Delta Six, this is codename November…" _The radio suddenly crackled into life, instantly shaking Soap from his thoughts. He jumped, suddenly paying full and constant attention. "_Ground team have started their approach. I repeat, ground team have started their approach." _

Satisfied, Soap reclined in his chair, knotting his hands together in his lap. _It had begun_. And now, the only thing worse than waiting for an op to start, would be waiting for that same op to finish…

* * *

The sand was swirling around them, making the visibility irritatingly low. In the world that surrounded them there seemed to be nothing else aside from rocks and the occasional scattering of plant life, a large ravine running down steeply behind them. It was deathly quiet, the only sound being the wind as it flicked sand across the terrain, miniscule grains pounding against the cave entrance.

Price took point, risking a flashlight as they began to make their way into the cave system. Lev was to stay at the entrance as a lookout whilst the others progressed onwards, with Markov bringing up the rear, Ghost relaying directions from the blueprints that he held in his hands.

"Place is deserted." Price said quickly, stepping through a rough pile of debris carefully. Once at the other side he indicated for the others to follow, not bothering to turn around.

"Do you think they came back?" Ghost replied.

"Don't know…you'd think if they had they'd have been sure to blow the place sky high." The older Captain shrugged. "Maybe they thought that the C4 and fire mission had done its job. Whatever it was…" He nodded towards what remained of a Shadow Company soldier. "No one's been back here in a long time…didn't even come back for their dead."

_Roach._ Ghost desperately tried to swallow back thoughts of Gary as they pushed on.

When they reached a dim intersection, Ghost checked and double checked the plans, partly unconvinced that they had managed to find the right room. But the blue prints didn't seem to lie, as they rounded the next corner, they suddenly came face to face with a small room filled with generators and computer towers.

"Markov…keep watch outside. Ghost, with me." Price nodded, entering the room cautiously, his rifle ever ready within his hands. They both proceeded to check through every corner of the room, more out of habit that actually necessity. Only when he was convinced it was safe did Price lower his guard enough to speak. "Do you think its working?"

"Can't be sure…" Ghost shook his head quickly, spotting the terminal attached to the mainframe and heading for it. He typed experimentally at the keys, sighing when there was no sign of life on the screen.

"It looks dead."

"But not broken…" Riley was scratching at his head, glancing around quickly. "It doesn't look damaged, right?"

"True…"

"So we _need_ power." Ghost straightened up quickly, glancing across to the far end of the room and pointing with his left hand "Fuel generator…far left, if we can reroute power straight to the mainframe…" He knelt down, craning his neck at the terminal to check the mainframe connections. "See if you can get that petrol generator going again…"

* * *

It was the waiting that was the worst for Lev Sokolov.

He'd been a soldier, then a mercenary, but all through it he'd know that rogue Nikolai. They were both old veterans now, too proud and too grounded in their military ways to stop fighting, but both feeling as if things would have to end, _soon_.

He was an impatient man. As a soldier Lev wanted to be amongst all the action, to be right there in the centre of it all. But sentry duty? The endless waiting with a trigger happy finger had always been his least favourite experience. Even being pinned down by seemingly endless machine gun fire was better than _this._

Glancing out into the sandy terrain, Lev skimmed quickly for targets, though his brain never expected to see another living soul. It was a stealth op sure, but then again it was pretty damn easy to be stealthy when no one was watching.

_Until then._ There was a glint across his vision, something flickering in the corner of his eyes to his far right. He turned his head, quickly looking to his right, his heart suddenly thudding hard within his chest. _Were they figures?_ He strained his eyes harder, but the sand storm was making it impossible to focus on the dark shapes that were suddenly a part of his vision. Was his mind so bored that it was inventing targets now? Lev shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the palm of right hand before staring again.

_Something wasn't right…_

* * *

"Got it!" Riley yelled triumphantly, slapping the side of the monitor in celebration. The system was rebooting, the petrol generator humming away at the far end of the room, rocking slightly as it did so.

"It's working?"

"It's switched _on_…" Riley laughed. "It's gonna take some time for me to patch into the system…even if it's operational." He shrugged. "And even then…I don't exactly know what I'm looking for."

"Just get it _done_." Price shook his head, sliding down the wall so that he was in a sitting position, his eyes fixed on Riley. He watched him silently for a second before speaking again. "How was Soap this morning?"

"He was ok…" Riley answered, almost on autopilot until he realised the true nature of the question, his movements freezing for a split second as he regained some composure. "Hang on…_how did you_…?"

"You didn't sleep in your cot last night." Price shrugged idly, a smile twisting across his features. "And I thought it unlikely that you'd be busting your arse in the operation's room all night." He smirked, watching Riley for any change in body language. When he found none, he was slightly disappointed. "He thinks a lot of you, you know. Soap I mean."

"Well…I…" Ghost was stumbling over his words and he knew it, wrong footed as he desperately tried to keep his mind focused on what he was doing. "I don't know about that."

"Isn't it obvious?" Price laughed to himself softly. "Maybe it is…but only to 'old men' like myself." He shook his head quickly. "You didn't see how he was, not after he thought you were dead."

"He felt guilty-"

"There was more to it than that." Price interrupted, his voice strong against Riley's. "Believe me. He might not admit now, hell, knowing Soap he might never admit it at all…but…it's still there."

"You think?"

"I_ know_." The older man rolled his eyes. "I know a damn sight more than people credit me for."

"_Obviously._" There was an awkward silence, the only sounds the generator and Riley's gloved fingers flickering quickly across the keys of the terminal, before he spoke again, his voice louder this time. "And you don't…well…think it's all a bit…" He tailed off, knowing what he wanted to say but unable to _actually_ say it.

"All a bit odd?" Price took pity on him, finishing his sentence before shaking his head. "No. I've been leading men a long time; you'd be surprised what it takes to surprise me." He laughed. "Though I have to admit…for two special forces men such as yourselves…it is the _worst _kept secret in history."

* * *

They were definitely_ real_ people.

Lev lifted his rifle, backing away from the cave mouth quickly. There was a patrol headed his way, and he knew if he spoke into his radio now there was a chance that they'd come running before help did. He swallowed hard, quickly checking every other avenue to make sure that they were at least all coming from the same direction. Fortunately they were, a small mercy right then.

His only choice would be to back further into the cave. He'd be able to radio Markov and warn them, besides; at least he'd have the advantage of more cover in case he was spotted. Slinking backwards silently, he retreated back into the cave.

* * *

"I think I'm in…" Ghost said slowly, his eyes fixed intently to the screen. He beckoned over Price, bringing up the file names quickly. "But what the hell are we looking for?"

"Any leads…" Price scanned through the titles, but more than half of them were encrypted gibberish. "Any chance of actually making these_ look_ like English, mate?"

"You're kidding me." Riley rolled his eyes. "I can decrypt them sure. But it could take hours…there's no way I can do it here."

"So we take them with us." Price was already reaching into Ghost's backpack for the DSM unit.

"All of it?"

"We can't take any chances." He handed the object to Ghost. "Just like you did with Makarov's data."

"There's considerably more files here…"

"Then get to work." Price shook his head defiantly. "We can't risk leaving valuable intel...-"

Ghost had meant to object, but the sudden pound of gunfire sounding out through the tunnels cut him off, the loud noise angry and unexpected in his ears. He spun round to look at Price, but he had already dashed out of the room to Markov. Ghost meant to follow, but chose not to, deciding to start patching in the DSM instead, his hands typing even more frantically now as their radio crackled into life.

"_Price…Come in, Price. One patrol, ten men at least….entering the base from entrance Bravo. Machine guns, possible frag grenades._" There was another rattle of gunfire, interrupting Lev mid sentence. "_I'm retreating back to your position…"_

Above the noise, Ghost could hear Price yelling to Markov to provide covering fire, Lev obviously stepping into their sights. Ghost sighed inwardly, desperately trying to progress faster. After all, if Lev was getting close then so was the patrol…

"Ghost…" Price, said suddenly, appearing in the doorway of the room. "How long do you need?"

"As long as you can give me." Ghost shook his head, swallowing hard when the DSM only read '5% complete'. He glanced to Price over his shoulder, his eyes mournful. "Like I said…there's a lot of fucking files…"

* * *

When the radio crackled into life again, Soap instinctively checked his watch. As he did so his heart hammered beneath his ribcage. There was no way that the operation could have finished so soon…

"_Delta six…we have the intel but have encountered resistance. Repeat, we have the intel but have encountered resistance. Exfil point alpha will have to be abandoned, repeat, exfil point alpha will have to be abandoned." _

Soap sat up instantly, sitting closer to the radio as if that might somehow make the news that little bit better. Not that it worked. As he listened, Price's voice remained calm and collected as always, but the gunshots around him were louder, heavier, clearly showing just how pinned down they truly were. Soap shook his head, swallowing hard and gripping the edges of the desk hard. _Now_, he remembered what was the worst feeling about being left behind. When things went wrong, there was absolutely _nothing_ you could do.

His head in his hands, Soap tried to think logically and remember that Price and the others were more than capable of taking care of themselves. But it didn't help. His every thought simply led back to Ghost, and how more than anyone else, Soap should have been there instead of him.

Besides, John wasn't so sure that he could take losing him again…

* * *

**Dun, dun duuuuun. So I at least attempted a bit of drama there. But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Anyway, if it wasn't already obvious, Soap is now not only all alone on the base feeling crippled, but he's also worried sick…so your reviews would really make him feel better. And with Ghost teaching Price how to properly bake this time, what could go wrong? :) **

**And on an ever serious note, you don't need me to tell you how awesome you guys are for sticking with me through a whole 12 chapters. But in case you do, you guys are bloody fantastic! :) Thank you. **

**-x-S-x- **


	13. One Last Breath

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. _

**Note from Sassy: **I'm baaaack *insert dramatic music* with another chapter of NSD for all you lovely people. And with it I have a sad note. I'm afraid that I won't be able to update for a couple of days, most likely Tuesday and Wednesday. My best friend is coming over to stay with me, and so I can't quite tell him to go occupy himself whilst I get some writing done lol. But I promise that I will update as quickly as I can, so be patient with me. :)Now please excuse me whilst I squee at you awesome reviewers:

**God-Damned-Dog:** I officially do love you. I'm not sure how to reply to this lovely review because I just pretty much sat and blushed when I read it. Thank you! I'm so glad that you connected with the tension in the piece, and I'm also pretty happy that you liked Markov so much! I never really intended for him to be a big OC, but since you said that I've written him into this chapter a lot more. I hope you like it. :) Thanks so much for your reviews, they really do make my day.

**VerityA: **Of course, I hoped you'd like the mention of Yasha. And haha, that was the idea with Soap getting images of Ghost. But what can I say? It's been a long time lol. I'm really glad you liked the quieter moments though, since they are my favourite kind to write. A bit of humanity in amongst the chaos, personally I think its very reflective of real life lol.

**Strude:** Thank you so much for reviewing again! :) It really made me smile. I am so relieved that you liked my venture into drama, and knowing that you wanted to keep reading makes me so so happy. :) I hope you enjoy this chapter! You have made me feel very honoured. And I completely agree with you about teasing opposed to full on smut. I think it's much easier and more comfortable to read whilst still getting the point across. :)

**Reeserella:** Well…you find out in this chapter. And yeah, poor old Soap, all he can do is sit and hope for the best. Haha I'll get Ghost to dispose of the boonie flavoured cake mix never fear :P Thanks for the review!

**GubbleBum96:** Well Ghost has been making Ghost cookies in my A/Ns for a while, so I figure he has more culinary experience than Price. :P Either way, he does miss Roach, and part of me really wishes I could have found a way in my logic to bring them both back (this being one of the reasons why I started my Ghost/Roach story). And I know, I didn't really think Markov would become a key character, but when I'm editing I keep thinking I've written Makarov by accident *Sigh*. Haha I'm really happy that your reading between the lines though, because it makes me feel that my characters are at least believable! Soap and Ghost will have a reunion, I promise. ;) Thanks for the review!

_And now…hold onto your hats for chapter 13!_

* * *

The pounding of machine gun fire through the claustrophobic tunnel walls was deafening. Markov felt as if the very impact of the noise against his ear drums would burst them alone.

"I see you brought friends…" Price yelled as Lev made a dash into cover beside him, he and Markov choosing to blind fire to stop any further advance of his pursuers. "Are you hurt?"

"No…" Lev shook his head quickly, keeping his head down as bullets whistled above him. In the short time before his advance, Price had instructed Markov to erect a rudimentary barricade from the empty storage crates around them, leaving small gaps with which to fire through. Noticing this, Lev finally reached for his rifle, aiming down the sights and firing quickly, watching as one of the Shadow Company men dropped down dead through his actions. But he was soon replaced, and the others dashed for cover too, still firing a heavy amount of suppressing fire in their wake. "There are too many…and they've already secured the entrance!" He yelled to Price over the constant din. "Is there another way out?"

"No. And even if there was…" Price paused to fire another burst of over the tops of their barricade. "We can't risk them following us. This ends _now!_"

"You are insane!" Lev laughed darkly, firing again. Markov felt his eyes resting on him as he fired again too, taking a pot shot at one of the closer men to them. "Markov! Keep on them otherwise they will be fucking all over us!" Lev's voice, in Russian now, was suddenly a heavy ringing in his ears. It was the same impatient yell of the man who'd always taught him so much, no matter how much he pretended to hate doing so. Markov instantly jumped, squeezing the trigger harder and watching the flurry of bullets arc out in front of him, catching one of the men in the leg. Before even thinking, he was swallowing hard, and firing again, catching the fallen man in the chest before he could even think to right himself. For a split second time seemed to pause as the man took his last breath. Even when it was kill or be killed, Markov didn't find it any easier…

"GHOST?" Price was practically screaming over the barrage of noise assaulting their eardrums, but he didn't stop to turn round, keeping his eyes focused on the tide of men that had them so pinned down. "Tell me some fucking good news, mate!"

"Halfway there!" Ghost's voice barely made it above the wall of sound, his tone gruff and frustrated. "The system keeps jamming…I _need_ more time!"

"Just get it done!" Another enemy soldier made a break from cover and Markov watched as Price cut him down quickly, his aim flicking across to another soldier and catching him in the arm.

"I'm reloading!" Markov yelled, his hands fumbling with a new clip of ammunition, fingers trembling from the heady combination of adrenaline and fear. Finally snapping the clip into place, he raised his gun, just in time to see the dark figure of a flanking Shadow Company soldier running towards him. He raised his gun, but his brain seemed to go blank, his finger simply resting on the trigger.

"Markov!" There was a loud bang from over his shoulder, and the attacking soldier instantly reeled backwards, an explosion of red pasting against the tunnel wall. Elbowing him hard, Lev gave him a furious look. "Fucking _keep _firing!"

Markov didn't need telling a third time.

"Fuck!" There was a sickening thumping sound as Price let out a yelp of pain, glancing almost angrily to his right arm, where a circle of red liquid in his shirt soon grew, blood trickling down onto his forearm in long tributaries. He allowed himself a second to wince at the pain before shaking it off and focusing back on the few soldiers that remained in front of them, firing almost in defiance. One was caught in the chest, another in the head, both men crumpling to the floor almost instantaneously. Freshly inspired, Markov and Lev doubled their efforts, keeping up a wave after wave of almost continuous fire as Price retreated back into the mainframe room. Two more men fell in their sights, and finally, through the haze of battle they began to realise that they were winning, counting nine bodies lying haphazardly on the ground in front of them. Beside him, Lev let out a triumphant whoop, firing at where the last man lay in cover, angry Russian streaming from his mouth. "Come out and face us, you stupid son of a bitch!" Markov fired another stream of bullets, just in time for when the figure raised his own gun to blind fire back, catching him in his exposed shoulder. The figure immediately fell backwards; his torso suddenly draped across the ground, vulnerable and disadvantaged, yet quickly exploited when Lev levelled his rifle and fired a single shot, catching the soldier neatly in the head.

As Lev let out more whoops and laughs of triumph, pulling him into a proud embrace, Markov was laughing breathlessly with relief, but inside he felt almost ashamed. Men had still died, brothers, husbands and sons. Somehow it didn't seem right to celebrate where they had died.

He had never been a soldier like his brother. And even now, caked in grime and dust, a heavy assault rifle lying in his hands, he still wasn't one.

* * *

"Do you have it?" Price grunted, tearing at the lower fabric of his shirt to form a makeshift bandage. The bullet had nicked the fleshy part of his arm, so the damage was limited, but the amount of blood was still enough to warrant attention.

"30 seconds longer…" Ghost kept on typing, not bothering to turn around. "Everything under control out there?"

"By the looks of it. Small patrol…but there could be more." Price shrugged. "Must still be a base near here, keeping watch." He shook his head. "They'll send reinforcements."

"We won't be here long enough…" Riley laughed victoriously, unplugging the DSM and sliding it into his rucksack carefully. He finally turned round to Price, giving a concerned look to his bloody right arm. "We need to get_ you_ out of here."

"I'm not risking exfil point alpha."

"Bravo then?" Ghost nodded, patting him on his good left arm gently. "Do you think you can make it?"

"Fuck off, Ghost…" Was the older man's only irritated reply.

The sound of a gunshot, suddenly alien in the now calm and quiet air, dispersed all feelings of triumph and success. There was a loud scream and another flurry of shots, sending both Price and Ghost running from the mainframe room as quickly as possible.

* * *

He'd seen it too late.

They'd been checking through the bodies one by one, taking the ammunition and stuffing it into their rucksacks. They'd been on full alert, Lev had been warning him about being too complacent, their rifles had been fixed on the now motionless bodies of the fallen. And then, _movement_. Lev was stood directly in front of him, and over his shoulder Markov had seen a glint, the flicker of a handgun being lifted slowly into position. He'd realised what he was seeing all too late, calling out Lev's name to warn him whilst raising his own rifle. But he wasn't quick enough. The older Russian turned around just in time for the single bullet fired to hit him squarely in the forehead, showering Markov in a gruesome spray of blood and gore. He cried out again in anger and loss, firing on impulse and killing the injured soldier stone dead where he lay. But he was too late. The streams of crimson on his skin and the stench of iron told him that far too well.

In an unquestionable rage, Markov had emptied the rest of his clip into the dead body of Lev's killer, garbled screams in nonsensical Russian flowing steadily from his lips. He'd watched as the body was opened up by each new bullet, but he was unaffected by it, his rage not even sated when his gun clicked empty. Now he was staring, his mouth hanging open, the skin of his face slick and grotesque when he collapsed to his knees, Lev's body morbidly twisted in front of him. Blinking back the sting of dry tears, Markov opened his eyes, meeting the now stony, forever shocked gaze of his one time mentor. His stomach wretched and twisted into a thousand knots and he threw up instantly.

"Markov?" He hadn't realised that Ghost and Price were there at first, until there had been a gloved hand on his shoulder and a masked face suddenly in front of his eyes. He tried to look past the sunglasses and the mask, but the face still seemed void of emotion considering what had just happened.

"He's dead…" He wasn't sure why he was saying the words with Lev's body right there and his blood still smattered across his face, but Markov felt the need to say them, his voice choking and stammering as he did so.

"I know." Ghost nodded in reply, glancing around them quickly, as if he was scanning every single body for any further signs of life. When he was satisfied that there was none, he looked back to Markov, holding out his hand. "We need to _go…_"

Price was pacing impatiently in front of them, his voice disturbingly calm and authoritative. "Codename November…this is Delta One. Exfil point alpha no longer secure, requesting exfil point Bravo. Do you copy?"

"_Da, Delta One. I am inbound, ETA 15 minutes_."

"Roger that. Be advised, we have sustained a casualty. I repeat, we have sustained a casualty."

"_Are they alive?_"

"Negative." Price glanced quickly towards Lev's body. "He's KIA."

"Markov!" Ghost's voice was suddenly there again, louder, shaking him from the daze that he had slipped into. The hand that was offered out to him was gone suddenly, before two strong hands were gripping at his shoulders, pulling him to his feet without question. The hands stayed there for a moment when he was standing, holding Markov so that he was eye to eye with Riley. "There's nothing more we can do…We need to leave, now!"

"No…" Markov shook his head weakly, glancing back down to Lev mournfully. "I won't leave him."

"He's dead, mate…" Price shook his head. "We can't-"

"We _can't _leave him." Markov replied, his voice sharper, stronger as he squared up to Price in a way that would have seemed admirable in any other circumstances. "We're not like them…we don't_ leave_ our dead."

"Exfil point Bravo is over a klick away…."

"It doesn't matter." Markov shook his head defiantly. "We don't leave him behind."

"Then you better keep up." Price shook his head. "Because we can't afford to stay here any fucking longer than we have to…"

As Price left him, Markov shook his head, bending down for Lev's body. He grabbed his arms gently, pulling the dead weight up so that the dead man was almost in a sitting position, his head lolling lifelessly at his shoulders. Moving him was more awkward than Markov expected, and he grunted as he tried to manoeuvre his weight onto his back, struggling to get a tight enough hold with which to stand up.

"_Here_…" Suddenly Lev's body was slipping onto his shoulders more easily, the majority of his dead weight spread evenly across Markov's back as he moved to stand up, two hands steadying him as he did so. He turned to his right to see Ghost, who nodded to him solemnly. "I _had_ to leave my friend. You shouldn't have to."

* * *

His mind was a mass of 'what ifs'.

Soap had been sitting by the radio for the duration of the operation. He had heard Price's conversation with Nikolai, and he had heard that one of the men was dead. And now he had to sit there idle, while for all he knew Ghost was lying dead on the floor of some god forsaken army base.

His mind was a blur of affirmations and contradictions. He'd convince himself that it couldn't be Ghost, that Price would have _said_ if it was Ghost, that he would have sounded less fucking clinical if it had been a former member of the task force. But then Soap would just as easily talk himself out of it. After all, what if it _was_ Ghost? Would Price not tell him until they were face to face? Would he wait until they offloaded from the helicopter, grimy and battle sore, and give him that ominous sympathetic pat to the back which was supposed to say 'sorry'? Or maybe he just didn't dare even say it, knowing full well that he practically backed Ghost into the mission in the first place… But this was Price. A straight talking bastard. He'd always told Soap things just how they were, never being one to sugar coat bad news to make it easier to swallow. Ghost couldn't be dead. He just _couldn't. _

This cycle continuously reeled through his skull, the same arguments, the same logic, the same reasoning, repeated over and over because Soap couldn't _think_ of anything else. But they were all driven around by the same flimsy piece of logic, the incessant irony that seemed to surround their relationship. After all, the day Soap had realised, just what, well whatever it actually was that he felt towards Riley, had been the day he'd lost him. The day that he had given up hope, Ghost had come back. And now…could this be the final piece to solve the puzzle? After months of uncertainty, when Soap had finally just let Riley in…was he to be taken away from him again? This time for good?

Soap shook his head, the thoughts biting into his sanity like the teeth of a saw, tearing and ripping as they went. But the feeling of loss lingered, stained with deepening pangs of guilt.

If Ghost _was_ dead, then it was all his fault. _Again…_

* * *

As the pave low finally lurched upwards, Riley slid to the floor, his body feeling exhausted and stiff. The trek across the uneven and difficult terrain had fatigued him more than it probably should have, his mind throbbing with dehydration with each passing step. It might have just been a klick, but in the hot haze of the desert with the sand forming a choking blanket in the air around him, it had felt almost unbearable.

Loosening the first few buttons of his shirt, Riley leant back against the metal wall behind him, watching what remained of their team carefully. To his right, Price was seeing to his wound, cleaning it using the first aid kit that was onboard the helicopter. He was staring intently at it, seemingly unaware of the world around him and the dead body lying barely two metres away. But Riley guessed that that was all an act. He hadn't known Price for as long as Soap, but even he knew that one of Price's great strengths was hiding his true emotions, from _anyone_. Riley knew that he and Lev had been friends, especially by how they had spoken before the operation had begun. Riley understood. Like Nikolai, Price would grieve later, when he was alone and there was no one around to pass judgement.

To his left, Markov was sat, huddled against the wall of the helicopter. His knees were brought up tightly underneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them, knuckles white from his tight grip. Since they had reached the safety of the Pave Low, Markov had been silent, simply staring out into space, his eyes wide and dark. He had wiped the blood from his face, but flecks of it remained on his clothes, congealing into darker, brown patches and smudges. Markov seemed no longer bothered by this, or anything else, the only movements he made being the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

And _Lev_. His body was lying in the middle of the Pave Low, on its back, his hands resting almost peacefully on his chest. Markov had been careful to lay him down, kneeling beside him and closing his fixed open eyes with a slide of his hand, before pulling a plastic sheet across the body, engulfing the once tall Russian in a sea of grey. As he'd done this, Markov had muttered something very softly in Russian, but even if he spoke the language, Ghost decided that it was better not to know what he had said. After all, if he knew one thing in this life, it was that there were some things you were simply better off not knowing…

Closing his eyes, Riley leant his head back against the metal casing of the helicopter. Immediately Roach appeared in front of his darkened vision, his body lying there, blackened and abandoned. He could remember the pain of leaving him, the agonising torment as he'd managed to salvage his dog tags. He remembered the feeling of self loathing as he'd staggered away, before the world had descended into an angry haze, dark and suddenly so very uncertain. He even remembered waking up in hospital and praying to a God he'd never believed in that someone would have taken pity on his friend and buried him, instead of leaving him alone in that ditch like some felled beast.

They were old memories, hurting a new like fresh sores. Riley clamped his eyes shut more tightly, keen to block out every ray of light that might dare penetrate his eyelids. Now wasn't a time for thinking, it was a time to sleep, time to escape from reality for a while, no matter how fleeting that time might be. Because when you were as much of a soldier as Riley, you learnt to take whatever rest you could, when you could.

After all, there was always going to be a war to fight. And as a result, no matter who lived and who died, there was always going to be another op…

* * *

**So, it's a lovely angst filled conclusion to their first operation. *sighs* I actually made myself cry here, which probably tells me that I am way too attached to my characters. **

**Either way, the boys need your reviews and love to cheer them up! So go on, you know you want to. Besides, Ghost is going to need one hell of a lot of hugs… **

**And on an ever serious note, thank you so very much for your support. :) **

**-x-S-x- **


	14. Retreat & Reveille

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Also! This chapter is rated M for explicit (ish) scenes. You have been warned. **_

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them. _

**Note from Sassy: **So after what feels like forever, I finally have more NSD for you! I am so sorry it's taken this long for me to write, but like I said, I've barely been online this week. Anyway, as always I need to have my usual squee at the amazing reviewers who make writing this series so much fun. Thank you guys!

**VerityA:** Well, I am honoured by that, seriously sweetie. :) Action is my least favourite as you might have gathered. And I know about Markov…I can't change his name now, but it catches me out…lots. Thanks for the concrit too! Serves me right for writing when tired. :P

**xGhostxStealth:** Aww I've missed you! But thank you for reviewing! *hands tissues* I am so pleased that you enjoyed the emotions though, and of course, I am eager to know what you think about what's coming next. :)

**Yunalein: ***hands out tissues* I'm sorry I made you cry. I get a bit carried away with Roach, but I think it's only natural for Ghost to miss him. And I'm so glad I made your day! I hope this chapter makes your day too. :)

**GubbleBum96:** *is joining with all this hugging* I hope you enjoy the bits of "comfort" in this chapter. :P And in fairness, all my characters appear to be lost within the depths of despair at the moment, so its understandable lol. Thanks so much for your review. :D

**xStealthxSniperx:** Hey don't worry, I'm just glad of the reviews whenever I get them :). I'm glad you liked the mentions of Roach and the DSM in chapter 12. And in terms of Shadow Company, well what can I say, they just get in the way. :P Thanks so much for your review.

**Reeserella:** *hugs* I'm sorry! But thank you so much, I shall take that as a very lovely compliment. Ghost will gladly hug you though, never fear. :)

**duvalia:** Again, I think my messages to you convey the squeeing that occurs due to your reviews. :D I'm glad you liked Soap's "mask" and his "breaking". The two were pretty damn challenging for me to write, so I am very honoured. :)

**God-Damned-Dog:** I am so very flattered that you were involved with the story, and especially my OCs, since of course they haven't done as much to have your allegiance. I tried hard to make Lev's death seem real, but I never thought that it would be as effecting as it seems to have been. On the note of changing my story, I always intended for Lev to be OC who died, but your comment did make me think about Markov more, which made me realise that I could use his POV in the story to help it flow, if that makes any sense. I've grown quite attached to my OCs though, and I'm glad that you think they have personalities outside of my own imagination. I think this chapter explores a little more of them. This review completely and utterly made me smile though, so thank you so so much. It did really inspire me to get writing chapter 14 as soon as I could. :)

_And now, let's cut to the chase that is chapter 14!_

* * *

When the Pave Low finally landed, Soap didn't know what to feel.

Much to Artem's displeasure, he'd insisted that he'd be there when it arrived, even when each and every step felt as if it was wrenching his body in two. It was the furthest he had had to walk so far, his strides as quick as he could manage, his fists clenched in an attempt to avoid cradling his side. He'd blotted out the medic's calls for him to rest as usual, in reality the muffled sounds barely even penetrating his ears. After all, he _needed_ to know the truth, good or bad, as soon as possible. The questions that had plagued him over the past few hours had been too heavy in his head, too unbearable, eating away at everything else. And so John Mactavish didn't give a damn if he reopened every bullet wound in his body in the process of finding out the truth.

When he saw a body, cloaked in a grey plastic sheet being carefully and respectfully unloaded from the helicopter by Nikolai and Markov, Soap felt his heart stammer in his chest. He was so wrong footed by the sight that even the muscle itself seemed to pause for a moment before beating again, a regular and constant drum within his chest. He watched as Artem dashed forwards towards them, foreign words suddenly becoming a loud presence within the dustbowl air around them. Whilst the rest of the base focused its attention on the body, Soap tore his eyes away, back to the Pave Low, watching as Price quickly clambered down, heading straight for the base, almost blanking out everyone and everything around him. The way he avoided Soap's gaze made his head spin, and a heavy nauseous feeling began to rise in his gut, climbing his throat. _Why couldn't Price look at him?_ Soap swallowed hard, hanging his head. There could really only be one solution. Suddenly he wanted that intolerable feeling of not knowing back more than anything else…

When he dared look upwards, the others were carrying the body back into the base, a few men hanging around to take care of the Pave Low. Soap took in a deep breath, biting his lip and preparing to follow. His mind was barely coherent, his thoughts hardly able to string themselves together through shock, but he was aware enough of his surroundings to know that he_ ought _to do something to at least help.

Even if he wasn't sure how much help he would actually be.

"We got the intel." The voice that suddenly spoke out sent cold shivers tingling down his spine. Slowly Soap turned round, his mind now completely and utterly blank but for one word. _Ghost._ He blinked hard at the figure now walking towards him from the Pave Low, his clothes dust riddled, eyes hidden behind the vale of his mask and glasses. Riley stepped forward, pausing as he stared at Soap inquisitively, almost instantly picking up on the confusion that must have been in the Captain's eyes. "Did you know him?"

"…Who?"

"_Lev Sokolov_." Riley shook his head softly, a frustrated tone underlying in his words. "We were too damn complacent."

"Lev?...I…I thought…" He wanted to smile with pure relief, but Soap couldn't bring himself to do so, his brain suddenly caught within a horrific conclusion. He'd spent the past hours so focused on Riley, willing him to be alive, that it had never even occurred to him that for that to happen another man would have had to _die _in his place. Swallowing hard, Soap fought hard to reign in his thoughts, his brain slowly being able to process once again. "We didn't know _who _the casualty was."

"He was Nikolai's friend." Ghost nodded gently. "Price didn't want to tell him over a radio distress call." The lieutenant looked at Soap closely, tilting his head and doing the one thing Soap hated more than anything else; _trying to analyse him_. "You…you didn't think-"

"I didn't_ know_." Mactavish was quick to interrupt. "It _could_ have been anyone…"

"And maybe it _should _have been me…" Riley shrugged. "I was the one they were protecting after all…I didn't even fire a shot."

"You did your _job_."

"I know…and they did theirs." Ghost sighed, taking off his sunglasses, his icy blue eyes suddenly free to almost glare in Soap's direction. "But when has any of that stuff helped?"

"_Riley…_" He wanted to do so much more, but Soap could only bring himself to reach out and squeeze Ghost's right shoulder, trying as hard as he could to convey as much relief into the action as possible. "You're not helping yourself."

"I know." The lieutenant dropped his gaze to the floor, but he leant into the action as much as he could. "I guess it's just been a long morning…" He forced a weak laugh, hoping that the lighter tone might reach Soap even through the wool of his mask.

"You need a drink…" Soap smiled, nodding quickly as he changed his grip on Riley's shoulder, turning it into a gentle push against his back, guiding him towards the base. "…And you need a shower."

"I need to start work on the DSM…"

"Not today." Mactavish smiled again, although this time it was solemn, accompanied by a deliberate shake of his head. "I don't think anyone is going to work today_._"

* * *

It had taken a whole 20 minutes of hot water cascading down his back and a good half tumbler full of whisky to make Riley feel that little bit more human again.

Stepping out of the shower, he reached for a nearby towel, drawing it up around his body before he could accidentally catch sight of his reflection. His senses were dulled by the alcohol still soothing his nerves, but he knew that thoughts of his physical scarring soon lead to thoughts of his emotional scars, and those were the ones that he desperately needed to forget. _Soon_.

"I poured you another." Soap smiled to him as Ghost padded back into his room, now fully dried and dressed in a pair of the Captain's jeans and one of his khaki shirts. He watched Riley carefully for a moment from his position on the edge of the bed, before pointing to the tumbler of amber liquid on the table closest to Ghost. "It'll help…" The Captain added as an afterthought.

"Thanks."

"Clothes fit you better too." Soap added with a smirk as he watched Ghost take a quick gulp of the whisky, half of it disappearing in seconds. Riley barely even reacted, sniffing hard as the liquid fire ignited his senses, before leaning back against the far wall and closing his eyes. "Oi…_watch it_, that's good stuff." He was trying too hard and they both knew it, but Soap was smiling and moving across the short distance to Ghost, refilling his glass. But this time he didn't retreat away, instead choosing to stand in front of Riley, watching him almost expectantly. "You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"We both know that's a lie, Simon." Ghost didn't want to meet the other man's gaze, and so he was wrong footed when there was a sudden pressure on the back of his still damp neck, a strong hand gripping ever so gently. It wasn't a show of power or dominance, but of support, fingers knowingly massaging the pressure point that lay in the centre of the patch of skin. He could try to fight it all he wanted, but Riley simply couldn't deny the slackening of his shoulders as they began to relax.

When that same hand began to push him forwards, Ghost immediately stiffened up, his muscles confused by the obscure action. Soap's other hand skimmed around to encircle his waist before resting on the small of his back, but Riley remained stock still, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. This new form of physical contact wasn't one he was in control of, and at first Ghost didn't trust it, not daring to soften in John's embrace for fearing of acting like "the woman" in the relationship. After all, he wasn't one for crying on shoulders. Or crying at all for that matter.

That was until there was a plucking of teeth at the flesh on the left side of his neck, a calculated move that left the skin sensitive and tingling. Instantly kisses were plied to the same area, accompanied by sucks and nips, each movement deliberately teasing and sensitising the patch of skin further. Riley couldn't stop himself now, the mix of arousing kisses mingling with the whisky in his bloodstream and forcing reluctant gasps from his lips. His fingers raked across Mactavish's shoulders, digging in through the fabric as Riley tilted up his head, exposing more of his neck so that John could just keep doing _that_…

"I'm sorry." When the kisses and bites reached his ear, Soap's voice was suddenly there, penetrating Riley's skull and snapping him out of his haze. He stayed silent, hoping that that was the end of it, but the Captain continued, his breath warm against his left ear. "…about Lev."

"I know…"

"But I thought it was you."

"I _know_…" Ghost groaned, tilting his head away from Soap when he leant in to kiss his neck again. He stared at him for a second, his eyes almost angry. "Do we have to do this now?"

"What?"

"I don't want to talk…" Ghost shook his head. "I don't even want to fucking _think._"

"…You still think it_ should_ have been you, don't you?" Soap pulled away himself, letting go of Riley completely, although their bodies were still painfully close. "…That's what this is, right?"

"I never said that…"

"You did earlier."

"I was hardly thinking straight." Riley shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I was guilty…fuck, I _still _am."

"I know-"

"You don't know!" Ghost laughed darkly. "You weren't there with Lev…you weren't even there with Roach…"

"And so that means I know _nothing_ about losing men?" Soap snarled, angling his face closer so his eyes looked straight into Riley's. He laughed sarcastically. "Give me a break…"

"It's different."

"It isn't." Soap shook his head. "I _cared_ about Roach…"

"He was my best friend!"

"And what do you think you fucking are to me? Eh, Riley?" Soap's words cut through the air, silencing Ghost immediately. He took a step backwards, seeding his ground out of shock at the other man's outburst more than anything else. The feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach was simply rising anew, heavier within his system, and right then Ghost couldn't stand it, suddenly becoming aware of what he was doing, of what he _always_ seemed to do with Soap these days. Riley licked his lips, still completely at a loss for words, the frustration in Soap's glare seemingly growing in intensity with each passing second.

"…I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I need…" Reaching for his mask and pulling it on quickly, Riley stepped past Soap and moved towards the door. "…I need to get out of here."

"Where the hell are you going to go?" Mactavish made no move to stop him.

"I don't know."

"Riley…"

"I'll come back…" The lieutenant shook his head, opening the door. "Just give me _time _Please_._"

* * *

He was numb.

He'd spent the past hour in there. He hadn't meant to, but somehow being amongst Lev's few possessions made him feel that little bit better. He'd left Lev's body in the hands of Nikolai and Artem, suddenly unable to be around it anymore. After all the shock had begun to leave him by then, and the sight of the lifeless body on the examination table made him sick to his stomach, his body dry retching in response. So he'd dashed from the room quickly and fled to Lev's room. He hadn't wanted to stay there, only lock the door for his dead friend, but once inside, Markov finally felt some form of peace. The bloodstains on his clothes told him that Lev was no longer alive, but at least within the bubble of his room, his friend was in some ways still there. It was an almost comforting feeling.

He'd started slowly at first, beginning to tidy away a few possessions of no consequence, like screwed up pieces of paper of used tissues. But it had quickly grown into something more. Markov suddenly wanted to honour his friend, to do the right thing for what little possessions he had owned. If he didn't act now then the others would come to clear the room later, and no doubt some of Lev's things would get separated and lost. The thought alone had horrified Markov, and he had begun to pack away every item in earnest, gently folding it all away with great care and respect, taking his time over every single little detail. After all, he was clearing away what little remained of Lev Sokolov's _life_.

He didn't hear the other figure enter the room for sometime, their movements precise and effortlessly silent. He'd spun round and seen them suddenly, a skull towering above him, silent and frozen. Markov had jumped in his skin, his heart jolting almost painfully in his chest.

"How long have you been here?"

"A couple of minutes." Riley shook his head, glancing around. "Nikolai said you'd probably be here…"

"I _had _to do something." He quickly shook his head, placing the last item, a picture of Lev, a grinning blonde woman and two young girls, on top of the cardboard box that now held all of his worldly possessions. He smiled softly, regarding the proud grin on Lev's features and pointing the picture out to Ghost. "Did you know he had a family?"

"No…"

"A wife…two little girls." Markov sighed. "He'd never tell me their names…but he would at least show me _this_."

"Do we…need to tell them?"

"No." The Russian turned round to face Riley. "They already think he's dead. He wanted to keep them safe…" Markov shrugged gently, blinking back stale tears. "I think he came here knowing that he wouldn't survive this war." He bit his lip, sitting down on Lev's bed and resting his head in his hands. "He was the one who brought me here. He said that he couldn't guarantee that the war I'd be fighting would be any easier, but at least I would know the truth."

"I'm sure he'd be proud of you."

"No…" Markov laughed softly, shaking his head as he looked up at Ghost. "He _knew_ I wasn't a soldier. I think too much, I empathise too much. I _regret_ too much." He rolled his eyes. "But Lev was the only one who understood all that..."

"No one's forcing you to stay."

"There's nothing out there for me anymore. My family think I'm a deserter, my brother is dead..." Markov sniffed hard, wiping at his eyes resolutely. "I'm a _part_ of this now."

"If it helps…" Riley shrugged, sitting down beside him slowly. "So am I. I could leave too…but I won't."

"Because of John?"

"Partly…" Ghost paused, worrying his lip as his thoughts lingered on the question further, his answer becoming more truthful. "Yeah..._maybe_."

"I heard you and Price talking…before the attack." Markov didn't quite meet Ghost's gaze, his eyes awkward. "He was right."

"About what?"

"John…He cares."

"I know." Ghost shrugged. "But neither of us are very good at dealing with that."

"Who is?" Markov gave him a weak smile. "But that isn't what's important."

"What is?"

"I think you're all he has." Markov nodded quickly, clearly a little uncomfortable. "_Here_ at least."

"I guess…"

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Who else do you have?"

"No one…"Ghost shook his head. "My family are long dead…my friends all died in the task force." He laughed darkly. "Is this supposed to be making me feel better? Because it isn't…"

"No." Markov smiled. "It's supposed to make you realise." He stood up slowly, a gentle smile growing across his features as he nodded to Ghost. "I was always a better thinker than I was a soldier."

Ghost found himself still sitting there, long after Markov had left. His strange realisations were swarming through his head, unclear and yet seemingly so damn loud. He was suddenly replaying his argument with Soap, rewinding and listening to what the Captain had said over and over. His thoughts were back at the Task Force base, back at that poker game where he'd first realised that John wasn't the man he was thought he was, back to that kiss before they'd assaulted the safehouse. Memories of the night before flooded his memory, reminders of every kiss, scratch and bite flickering across his mind. And then, Roach was back, stood steadfast in the centre of all his memories, the sergeant now an embodiment of everything wrong in world, everything that was unfair or wasted. The embodiment of betrayal and suffering.

But this time, Roach wasn't going to get in the way. And as Riley stood up, he knew exactly _what _he needed. More than anything, Simon Riley just needed to lose himself…

He'd practically ran back through the corridors to Soap's room, not even bothering to knock at the door. He'd barely been gone an hour and Mactavish seemed to be in a similar state to when he had left him, the Captain leaning against the far wall, glugging whisky from the bottle. Silently, Ghost closed the door, snapping it locked and testing it to satisfy his paranoia. He kept his eyes on Soap, who was half glaring at him angrily, half gazing at him confused when he shed his mask, tossing it carelessly to the floor. In a swift, deliberate movement he moved his right hand to his collar, quickly pulling at the buttons, freeing the fabric to expose the smooth and scarred skin that made up his neck. As he continued to undo the buttons further down his shirt, Ghost walked forwards, for once not giving a damn about what his "ruined" torso looked like whilst Soap simply watched bemused. But Ghost chose to just give him a deliberate smile in return. There were some things he knew exactly how to get.

He was on Mactavish in seconds, grabbing the collar of his t shirt and ramming him hard against the wall, not caring that his head banged awkwardly against the concrete with a thud. Riley lunged forwards, pulling the Captain's mouth into a fiercely demanding and dominating kiss, their bodies pressed tightly together. After a minute or so he found the Captain's bottom lip, sucking on it gently before biting down, hard enough so that the metallic tang of blood soon permeated into both their mouths.

The reaction from Soap was just as Riley had wanted, similar to a shark that was drawn into a fury of blood lust. The bite had awakened the Captain to the fact that he was being shamelessly dominated, and as a result it brought out his competitive edge, instantly causing him to push back against Ghost in earnest. When the Captain pushed him down to the floor, Ghost was sure that he had expected a fight for power, but Riley gave him no such response, simply letting himself fall backwards heavily. He'd watched as Soap landed on top of him, pulling his head back for a moment to check Riley's features, his scarred eyebrow raised in confusion. Riley merely smiled, watching him eagerly whilst a hand slid down Soap's body, finding his crotch and eliciting the most satisfying of groans from Captain in the process. In response, he leant down, pressing an almost feather like kiss to Riley's lips to show that he understood, before beginning to attack his neck in earnest, dominating every inch of skin in the process. When he moved down to bite and nip at his chest, Riley could already feel fresh marks budding in between the ones he had received the night before, but he didn't care, instead embracing the odd combination of pleasure and pain and arching his back to give Soap better access. When eager hands began to pull at his jeans, Ghost simply chose to close his eyes, rewarding Mactavish with a gruff groan when he bit at the skin just above his hip bone.

With that fleeting kiss, Soap had shown that he understood. There would be no power struggle that night. There'd be no fights for dominance, and no mad battle of wits to secure the position on top. Ghost had simply submitted himself completely to Soap, a feeling that was as alien as it was arousing. After all, with Roach suddenly back haunting his thoughts, Simon Riley needed to lose himself, even if it was just for an hour or so. And doing the one thing that just didn't come naturally to him? Well, that was as far from the dominating, competitive and arrogant Riley as he could physically get.

But even that wasn't the real point. It took a lot for Ghost to submit, and he sure as hell wouldn't do it with just anyone. He was physically unable to give that power freely to anyone whom he didn't trust without question. But if his talk with Markov had taught him anything, hell, if his time with the 141 had taught him anything at all, then it was that he _could _trust Mactavish, even if it was only for that one night.

After all, he was all he had left. If he couldn't trust in that, then what else was there?

* * *

**And so my friends, it's taken me a while, I know, but here is chapter 14. A bit of a change in gear to the last one, but I personally needed to recover from all the action writing. :P So what do you think? As you know, Ghost is eager to bake you all cookies, and Soap is more than happy to be the whore for this chapter and give out all the hugs you could want. :) **

**And on a ever serious note, thank you so so very much for sticking with me this far. You are officially brilliant. **

**-x-S-x-**


	15. Ordinance

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I **do** own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them. _

**Note from Sassy: **After being hit by the wave of inspiration that currently is **VerityA** I am back to updating *relatively* frequently. And so here I come, bearing gifts of NSD for you all on these cold winter nights. It's a bit of an odd chapter for me too this one, so any reviews I get are going to be more cuddled than usual. But, on that note, I guess its time to squee at the reviewers for chapter 14!

**Carovinee: **It's alright sweetie, don't worry about it! But on that note, welcome back. I'm very happy to see you back and reviewing again. :) You are so very kind too, that all I can really do is blush, a lot! FYI, I love your rambling. :D

**xGhostxStealth:** Well some might say you were mad, but they obviously are boring non slash lovers :P But I'm glad that I managed to build a bit of tension. You are very right about the typo too, since I do believe vale is something to do with rivers *headdesks* Thank you. :) To sound corny, Ghost has been getting into the Captain's jeans a lot recently ;) But seriously…I'm blushing here! What can I say to that except that you are obviously brilliant? *hugs*

**GubbleBum96:** Well if there's one thing Soap should know how to deal with, its angst. As for more comforting…well, you never know. :P Your keyboard troubles sound ridiculously annoying anyway, so I really appreciate your review, no matter how short. And on a random note, my shoulder is healing up nicely, thank you for remembering. :)

**UrgentOrange:** Thank you! I've got a bit attached to Markov, so it's nice to know people are enjoying more of him too. :)

**VerityA:** The domestic was always a tricky one, since I couldn't really have one of them being "weaker" than the other. But thank you! I love writing Soap, because in my head he's pretty complex, a bit like how you described. Both are ridiculously tough and strong, but Ghost definitely has that slightly harder edge. I'm afraid there's a bit of Roach here for you too, just as a slight angst warning. :)

**Yunalein:** Thank you sweetie! As always your reviews make my day too. :D I'm glad that you liked the fic! In terms of Christmas fics, I have written a Roach/Ghost one, and I might write a Soap/Ghost one…if I can come up with an idea. :)

**duvalia:** Hopefully I squeed enough in my personal message, but if I didn't, thank you! I agree Price is so very awesome indeed.

**Reeserella:** Ahhh I remember the last days of school…who can blame you for being excited? And Ghost's cookies are so specially that you don't gain weight. :D Thanks so much for the review.

**Not Yet Knowing:** Why hello there! I loved your sum up of thoughts there…in fairness you pretty eloquently summed up my entire plot in four lines. I'm glad that you're enjoying the fic! :)

And now, I hope you're sitting comfortably for chapter 15!

* * *

_It was Riley's first operation with the FNGs. _

_They'd been ordered to take out a group of Ultranationalist terrorists in an empathising village north of Omsk, deep within the Ural Mountains. The terrain was steep and difficult, the village more a sparse distribution of farm buildings than anything else, but their intel had soon proved solid. They'd set up camp on a ridge south of the village, their location ideally covered from the air and the ground by the thick forest of coniferous trees that surrounded them. It had given them the perfect place to sit and watch, picking targets and verifying their targets. By the looks of it the village was harbouring at least twenty men, with two armoured jeeps each utilising general purpose machine guns and 40mm grenade launchers. After a small discussion, Mactavish had decided that they would attack at dawn, using the low light to hide their approach whilst still giving them the element of surprise. It had also been decided that the team would split into two, Ghost's team breaching one the large barn, whilst the other team lead by Mactavish cleared the nearby farmhouse. The armoured jeeps would be dealt with by C4 at the very moment of breaching. _

_They had plenty of time to plan and prepare, something that definitely gave them all false confidence thanks to the important infantry saying of the 7 P's: 'Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance'. _

_Ghost, as usual, didn't think much of their new recruits. To him they were FNGs, men who had been elevated into a task force that in his opinion they would have to grow into. After all, it had been the same for him. In the same way that the SAS had been a huge step up from his infantry background, moving to the 141 had been another shock to his system, plunging him into an even more precise and dangerous world head first and with very little introduction. It was for this reason that he always felt angered towards Mactavish's more understanding view of the new men, and of how the Captain would edge away from the usual FNG related snide comments and remarks. But at the same time, Riley appreciated that this was Soap's greatest strength as a CO. After all, when Riley had been the new guy in the task force, it was Soap who had first believed in him and taught him one very important lesson:_

_Anyone could train hard and walk into the 141 on their own merit. That part was easy. But gaining your status and most importantly of all respect from your fellow soldiers? __**That**__ was the more difficult task. _

"_It's fucking cold…" Roach was sat beside him, huddled by the small fire in the centre of their camp. The fire was barely burning; reduced to glowing embers, deliberately low to hide their position on the mountainside. He glanced around smiling, breathing out a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. "But where's the snow?" _

"_What?" Ghost was the only one still conscious, or at least, not pretending to be. He was sat up in his sleeping bag, watching the glow of burning wood in front of him carefully. The rest were all hunched over, desperately trying to catch some sleep aside from Ozone and Chemo who were at the camp perimeter, keeping watch. _

"_It's freezing…we're on a mountain. Shouldn't we be waist deep in snow right now?" _

"_The Siberian high." Riley rolled his eyes. "In winter, the air here is really dry. Doesn't snow until summer." He gave Roach an exasperated look through his mask. "That answer your question?" _

"_I guess." Roach shrugged, offering out his packet of cigarettes in an attempt to change the subject. "Smoke?" _

"_I don't." _

"_Why?" _

"_Figure this job is doing enough to try and kill me as it is." The lieutenant sighed, nodding to the half empty packet. "Besides…you're smoking enough for both of us." _

"_Boredom." The sergeant smiled, taking a final drag before flicking the cigarette into the fire. "What the fuck happened to night raids?" _

"_You're questioning orders now?" Riley didn't bother to hide the irritation in his voice. _

"_I just think that we'd be safer going in now…There must be what, two guards on sentry duty? Silence them and then kill the rest of them in their sleep." _

"_And how would we ID the targets? There's civvies down there too." _

"_Torches." Roach laughed. "We'd have all the fucking time in the world. I think-"_

"_I __**think **__you should stop thinking." Riley interrupted his tone harsh. "Sentries have torches too, and a height advantage, they'd pick us out in seconds and we'd be stuck out in the open." Ghost shook his head quickly. "I think you should show a little more respect." _

"_I was…" _

"_Really?" Ghost smirked darkly. "Because it sounded to me like you were bitching about your orders behind your CO's back." He nodded to Soap's sleeping form. "The 141 don't do that." _

"_I'm not allowed to have an opinion?" _

"_Sure…" Ghost smiled. "Just wait until you've got the experience to back it up." _

_Eight hours later, with dawn steadily approaching, the operation was underway. The two sentries were already dead, their bodies hidden behind one of the buildings, propped up against the wall so they couldn't be seen through any windows. Roach had planted the C4 packs underneath the jeeps in strategic positions, and the two teams were stood at their breaching points, awaiting the C4 signal. _

"_Ghost…" Mactavish's voice was soft through the comm. "On your go…" _

_When he laid the frame charge on the barn door, Roach, stood directly beside him detonated the C4. The huge, flame filled explosion shook the soft ground, followed by the smaller explosions from the frame charges and the distinction whoosh of flash bangs. There were assorted yells in both English and Russian as Ghost and Roach stormed the room, gunning down two men who instantly reached for their assault rifles within the confusion. The civvies were easy to spot, mostly unarmed women, dropping to the floor screaming as frantic hands clasped over their ears. Three more men began firing from the cover of some barrels, and Ghost and Roach were momentarily separated as they both made for cover at either end of the room, Ghost taking shelter behind an upturned table. Fortunately the men were inexperienced, and they soon made mistakes, allowing Ghost and the others to pick them off one by one with relative ease. _

"_Ozone, Chemo, check the rest of the ground floor. Breach and Clear. Roach, you're with me. Upstairs…now!" Indicating over his shoulder, Ghost began to climb the stairs at the far end of the room, his eyes flicking from down the sights of his gun to his surroundings. The hay loft was dimly lit, and filled with areas where targets could be hiding, and so they both moved slowly, inching their way along the floorboards. Below them they could hear Ozone and Chemo firing, and Ghost's finger twitched against his own gun. But there was still no movement in the gloom. Just the sound of a distinct __**click.**__ He wasn't sure if he'd heard it at first and advanced, his eyes trained straight ahead. It wasn't until he heard an unnerving roll of something heavy and metallic by his feet that Riley actually began to worry. _

"_Ghost!" He didn't really have time to think, as a force that felt like an oncoming vehicle was suddenly knocking him sideways, Roach's body suddenly tackling him towards the hay. The grenade, obviously cooked, exploding almost immediately, spreading a shower of shrapnel, wood and hay around them, the hay loft's floor shaking. He heard a distinct scream of pain, as Roach's body fell on top of his heavily followed by a yell of angry Russian as the two men hiding in the loft with them came out of cover, desperate to use the explosion to their advantage. Riley's ACR was trapped underneath Roach's body, and so he grabbed wildly at his sidearm, levelling it at the closest man and firing for full effect. He fell. The other raised his hands, yelling at Ghost in what he assumed to be surrender. But he didn't have time for that, and a quick shot to the head was all it took to bring the world around him back into silence. _

"_Roach?" Rolling the body off him, Riley quickly examined the sergeant, watching as blood began to pool through the left side of his shirt. "Chemo! Roach is down…" _

"_Shit…" Roach himself was glancing down, trying to catch a look at the state of his wound. He moved his hands up to examine it further but Ghost slapped them away. _

"_That was fucking stupid…" The lieutenant shook his head. "What the hell were you thinking?" _

"_Don't know…" Roach laughed breathlessly, grimacing when the pain in his side intensified. He swallowed hard, meeting Ghost's gaze with a deliberate smile, however weak it might have been. "Guess…I was just trying to show some of that respect…sir." _

_Chemo appeared next, kneeling by Roach's side and forcing Ghost to step back before he could respond. He'd never felt more useless, watching at the medic began to examine the embedded shrapnel, ripping Roach's shirt away at the seams to get a better look. _

"_Ghost! Gimme a Sit Rep, over." _

"_Building 2 clear, sir." Straightening up, Ghost pushed the comm. unit further into his ear. "But Roach is down…caught some shrapnel in his side." _

"_What's his status?" _

"_Still conscious." Ghost watched as Chemo gave him a quick shake of his head. "We're going to need a casevac asap." _

"_Roger that. Get him outside if you can move him. We're enroute to assist." _

_They'd carried Roach outside, where Chemo had begun removing the pieces of shrapnel as best he could, his small medical pack proving almost entirely useless. With the majority of the shrapnel gone he was at least able to press gauze to the wound, stemming the bleeding whilst Ghost and the others tried to keep Roach awake and talking. _

"_You're a lucky bastard…" Ozone laughed to Roach. "By the looks of it the only thing that saved you was that the grenade kept rolling." _

"_And it's missed your vitals…" Chemo nodded, smiling reassuringly. "You're going to be ok." _

"_Great…" Roach tilted his head, looking to the wound. "Gonna be one… fucking scar though." _

"_Welcome to the 141." Soap merely smirked in reply. _

_When the casevac bird finally arrived, Roach was weak, but at least stable. All eight men loaded up, most huddling down one end of the chopper giving Chemo, Ghost and Roach room. _

"…_You're bleeding." Roach groaned, hissing with pain when Chemo lifted off the gauze, beginning to disinfect the wound. He nodded weakly to Ghost's left forearm, where a deep gash was seeping blood. _

"_Says you." Ghost shook his head. "I'm fine." He swallowed, awkwardly running a hand across the top of his mask. "All thanks to you, mate." _

"_Don't…mention it." Roach smirked softly. "But remember…" _

"_What?" _

"_Next time…pay more fucking attention." The sergeant laughed grimly, his features screwing up as the pain welled up again in his side. _

"_Maybe." Riley muttered. "But in the mean time, I think I owe you one hell of a pint." _

_Roach might have started the op as nothing more than just a FNG, but that no longer mattered. After all, when they finally did leave the Ural Mountains for good, Ghost considered Roach his friend. Six months later, after countless similar events, Gary Sanderson was his closest friend within the task force, only rivalled in any way by Mactavish himself. _

Riley glanced at his watch. It was 8.30am. He'd managed to daydream away at least 20 precious minutes.

He wasn't the best of sleepers, and as a result he'd been wide awake hours before, lying awkwardly beside Soap's still unconscious form. Temporarily he'd enjoyed the feeling, the warmth of the bed sheets oddly pleasant against his skin, the heavy breathing beside him almost a comforting sign that he wasn't alone. But the longer he lay there, enveloped in a constant darkness, the more he wanted to move. And the more he wanted to move, the more he knew that sleep was going to be impossible.

He'd torn himself from the bed and forced himself into the shower, the cool liquid lapping across the marks that covered his body from the night before. He wasn't sure if it was just Soap showing that he cared or the way the man liked to get off, but the Captain was nothing if not rough, not afraid to bruise, manhandle and taint almost any area of flesh that he could. Not that Ghost particularly minded, since on reality he was just the same. It was the one thing that men had over women. Women felt fragile and didn't appeal to the darker side of his personality. Men however, well they could take absolutely anything and _everything_ that he threw at them.

Staring blankly ahead, Ghost tried to refocus his vision on the computer monitor in front of him. The operations room was deadly quiet, the only sound for hours being that of his fingers bouncing off the keyboard and little else. Not that he had managed to glean much information from his hours of work. The decryptions were harder than he had anticipated for a start, and the files he had managed to crack were all of little use, most of them old orders and base directives like one-one-six bravo. All very interesting, but in terms of finding anything that even _mentioned_ Makarov, completely useless.

"I'm already getting bored of this…" A gruff, Scottish accent made Ghost jump out of his skin, and he span round in his chair, his heart thundering in his chest. Behind him Mactavish was stood in the operations room doorway, smiling arrogantly, the bulk of his bandages still clearly visible underneath his tight grey t shirt.

"How long were you there?"

"Long enough." The Captain shrugged, walking into the room and closing the door behind him. He looked back to Ghost, lifting a questioning eyebrow. "You going to keep ditching me?"

"Why…did you miss me?" Riley's voice was almost dripping with sarcasm as he turned round to face the computer again.

"It's…disorientating." Stepping forwards, Soap leant against the oak operations table, resting the majority of his weight on the object. "…Did I…do something wrong?"

"No…but I couldn't sleep." Ghost sighed, adjusting his mask with an awkward hand. "Thought I'd make myself useful…"

"_Right_…" Mactavish sounded almost relieved. "And did you?"

"Not yet."

"What have you found?"

"Directives mostly. Self destruct contingencies, operation plans…I even managed to dig up a patrols rota." He laughed softly, although there was a disappointed edge to his voice. "But on Makarov? I've found jack shit."

"Price knew it was a risk…"

"That's not the problem." Riley shook his head. "Intel could be right here in front of me…but until I've decrypted it, I won't know." He shrugged impatiently. "And since I'm the only one who understands this shit…"

"We've got our ears to the ground." Soap interrupted tactically. "If Makarov shows his face in the mean time then we'll know about it."

"And if he doesn't?" Ghost turned, watching as Mactavish was forced into silence. "_Exactly_. Face it John, right now this is the one lead we actually _have._" He groaned, a frustrated hand hitting out against the desk. "So I've _got_ to find something."

"And thinking like that is going to make it so much easier." Soap rolled his eyes, his voice the one to be sarcastic this time.

"A man _died _for this intel…" Ghost shook his head. "Don't you think that means something?"

"Course I do!" Soap half yelled, exasperated. "But what is or isn't on that DSM isn't going to change that."

"Try telling that to Markov."

"He already knows. We _all _knew the risk." Mactavish shrugged sadly. "Even Lev." He watched as Ghost turned around silently, his hands fixed back to the keyboard. Muttering under his breath, Soap stood up, standing behind Riley, hands grasping the lieutenant's shoulders. Digging in his thumbs he felt for tension knots, idly massaging at them with the digits as he spoke. "How long have you been in here?"

"…I don't know…nearly three, four hours?" The figure in front of him shrugged.

"Then you're coming with me. You need some air or something."

"I'm fine."

"You really trust me to believe that?" Soap scoffed. "Come on, Simon. This is _me_."

"Then you should get why I want to stay."

"And I do, believe me." He rolled his eyes. "But come on, Riley. I'm allowed to give a damn about you too."

"This is still more important."

"And I'm not? Thanks…" Soap smirked, bending over and pressing a kiss at the bare skin of Riley's neck. He hovered there for a moment, breathing against the damp skin before moving forwards again, this time nipping gently at the skin with his teeth, ensuring that he had Riley's full attention. "Just give me an hour, ok? We can get some food or something, and then you can come back here and work all you want." He paused, pressing another nip to the pink patch of skin. "Deal?"

"And you'll leave me alone?"

"Promise."

"Soap…" Another, very familiar voice pushed its way into the room, intrusive and sudden. Mactavish spun round expectantly, although it took him a few seconds to realise that his hands were still resting on Riley's shoulders when his eyes finally met with Price's. "Yeah?"

"Artem's looking for you." The Captain sighed, folding his arms. "You need new bandages."

"_Great._"

"Doctor's orders." Price shrugged and nodded to Ghost. "Find anything?"

"Nothing yet."

"Well keep trying." He smiled weakly, half stepping out the room, a hand wiping across his mouth and moustache. Almost as if he'd forgotten something, he turned round again, clearing his throat. "The Russians are burying Lev in an hour…" He paused awkwardly, moistening his lips with his tongue before continuing. "…So if you want to pay your respects…" Deciding that it was better to leave the sentence dangling, Price seemed content to simply nod at them both, before quickly retreating from the room.

"Do you want to go?" Soap was the first to speak, more to break the harsh silence that had suddenly engulfed them than anything else.

"I think we both _should_…" Riley sighed slowly, his head hanging. "…It's the least we can fucking do."

* * *

**And on that note, I shall end this shorter and a little bit different chapter. The flashbacks and Roach are back after popular demand! And of course, the plot is busy chugging along too, but give Ghost chance, he's got a lot of files to work through. :P On that note, he's stuck in front of his computer a lot at the moment, so if you fancy writing him a review then he would absolutely adore you. As of course, would I. **

**And, continuing my own personal cliché, thank you so much for reading this far. As I say time after time, you make my job as a writer completely awesome. :) **

**-x-S-x- **


	16. Espirit de Corps

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them. _

**Note from Sassy: **So…it's been a while. And a belated Merry Christmas to you all! I'm sorry its taken me this long to get this chapter out, but I figured with it being Christmas everyone would be too busy to read it until a few days after anyway. But enough of that, I shall simply welcome you all back and then start squeeing at my awesome reviewers. :D

**xStealthxSniperx: **Haha the infantry have complete ownership of the seven P's sadly…I do so wish I was clever enough to come up with them. As for snarky, grumpy Ghost, well, it wouldn't have been the birth of a friendship without him lol. :P Thanks for your review!

**VerityA: **I love how we miss Roach even when he's not actually been in this fic that much. And bless you! As I probably told you, it was Andy McNab's books that had me all inspired with that chapter, but I'm glad I managed to make it all believable. You are far too lovely dear. :)

**Yunalein:** Thank you so so much! Your reviews always make me smile, and they are so complimenting. I'm glad my writing managed to cheer you up too! And I know what you mean about Roach…but he is the real tragedy of it all I guess.

**SarkastinenNasse:** I know your review was for chapter 9, but I hope you read this chapter and see my response! Thank you so much. And I guess, welcome to the pairing. It is, and I say this with no bias, the best pairing out there… :P And thank you for what you said about taking time with the characters, because I believe there is a fine line between developing the characters and dragging it all out too long. So thank you. Your review gave me a huge boost. I'd love to know what you think of these later chapters too, so keep in touch. :D

**Reeserella:** Ghost truly appreciates your kindness there. :) And I'm glad that you liked the flashbacks too! Thanks as always for your review. :D

_And now? Yes…finally, its chapter 16!_

* * *

The seemingly continual clash of duty against want was something that Simon Riley was beginning to get used to.

If he could have been, he would have been anywhere else. Stuck in the operations room buried beneath embedded files, out on patrol, hell, right then he would have even settled to be back out in the wastes alone again. And yet, although the urge to just fucking bolt was constantly drumming through his system, so too was the knowledge that in reality, he simply _couldn't_. It was his duty to be there, in some ways, his _responsibility_.

And yet even with all of that weighing down upon his mind, he still felt as if he was an intruder.

Nikolai, Artem and two other men solemnly lowered the body down into the grave, their movements strangely soft and respectful for such generally heavy handed men. Lev's body had been cleaned and although there were no coffins on the base, it had been carefully wrapped in white cloth, giving it an almost mummified appearance against the sand whipping through the base around them. No one spoke, the rest of the men barely even moving as Nikolai and the others stepped out of the grave, their heads hanging low. It was obvious to Ghost that Lev had been a popular man on the base, and the pangs of guilt in his stomach became sharper with each newly disheartened and grieving glance he met. These men had lost their friend, their _brother_, and yet he was stood alongside them trying to mourn for a man he barely even _knew_. And right then, surrounded by Lev's comrades, even _that_ felt disrespectful.

Ghost blinked hard, fighting the urge to simply run when visions of Roach's body lying in Lev's grave flashed evilly across his mind's eye.

For a moment everything was still. There were no tears, only closed eyes and bowed heads. A few of the men muttered different things in Russian, and occasionally the others would nod, including Price and by association, Soap. Nikolai spoke out what appeared to be a joke or anecdote and the others pitied him with a soft laugh in response. No one made any move to cover the body.

It was only when Markov finally stepped forward that some of the men began to turn their backs to leave, his resolve to remain strong immediately obvious and almost uncomfortable to watch. Stale tears were burning in Markov's eyes, making them reddened and bloodshot as if the liquid itself was corrosive, and yet he refused to let them fall, instead stepping forwards and kneeling by the grave. In a slow, deliberate movement, Markov pulled the small photograph of Lev and his family from his pocket, glancing at it mournfully. A saddened, crooked smile cracked across his young features for a split second, until he leant forwards, gently placing the thin sheet of paper onto the dead man's chest. His hand lingered there for a moment as he whispered something barely audible, before standing quickly and nodding to Nikolai.

"It's time…"

"Da…" The older Russian swallowed, and he handed a shovel to Markov, taking one for himself in the process. Stepping forward slowly, he dug the shovel into the pile of fresh earth and sand by the grave, piling a small clump of it onto Lev's chest as gently as physically possible. More of the men began to turn to leave, Price included, whilst Mactavish nudged at Ghost's side.

"Come on, mate…"

But Ghost was transfixed. Instead of turning to leave with the Captains, he stepped forward, a tentative hand reaching for another shovel.

"I'd like to help…"

"You do not have to, my friend." Nikolai shook his head slowly.

"But I want to…" His fist tightened around the handle of the spade. "It's the least I can do…"

"Let him…" Markov laughed suddenly, although the sound was dark and bitter. He straightened up, eyeing Ghost almost defiantly. "Let the soldier try and redeem himself…"

"Markov…"

"No…let me speak." The younger Russian smiled, stepping closer to the pair of them slowly. "Because he should _know _what he's done…"

"He has done nothing…" Nikolai warned, attempting to move in between them.

"Exactly!" Markov laughed almost triumphantly. "Last night…I realised. We were out there; fighting and where was this…_trusy_?" He shrugged sarcastically. "_Hiding…_"

"We needed the DSM." This time Ghost spoke, nudging past Nikolai as he stepped towards Markov, his voice strong.

"You still could have fought. That way we would have known they were all dead…That way, Lev would_ still_ be alive."

"I did my job…" Ghost said slowly, almost as if he was saying it to himself rather than to Markov. "If I could change it… then I would. But I. did. My. Job."

"Does that make it easier for you?" Markov smiled sinisterly, stepping forward so that his face was inches from Riley's mask. "When you wash the blood off your hands each night, does saying that make it easier to handle?" The Russian punctuated his words with a hard shove to Riley's chest.

"Markov!" It was as if neither man could hear Price's interjection.

"How many have died whilst you were doing your job? _Hmm_?" He laughed bitterly, cocking his head as he glared at Ghost. "How many have you _forced_ to make that sacrifice?"

"You don't know what you're saying…" Riley shook his head.

"I doubt Lev was the first for a coward like you…"

"I'm not a coward…"

"Really?" Markov smirked, squaring his shoulders. "Did your friend know that before _he _died?"

"No…" The warning tone in Ghost's voice was unmistakable. "Don't you fucking mention him."

"Why?" The younger man laughed softly. "Is it too painful?"

"You've got no right…"

"And you've no more right to live where Lev died…" Markov swallowed hard, his eyes dark and angry as he pushed forwards into Ghost's face again. "But I guess that was just an 'accident'…wasn't it?"

"Yes…"

"Then tell me…" Markov paused, eyeing Riley eagerly, almost as if he was relishing the shared anger crackling between them. "Was Roach's death an 'accident' as well? Or did you just _abandon_ him too?"

To say that he had snapped was an understatement. Before Markov could even draw breath, Ghost had aimed a ruthless punch to his jaw, knocking him flying backwards. In mere milliseconds, Riley's world descended into a reddened haze, and he was pushing forwards, letting out an angered scream as he lashed out, landing a heavy kick into Markov's ribs. The body spluttered beneath him, and Ghost kicked out again, this time aiming the kick higher at the other man's shoulders. Riley's brain was such a blur of conflicting thoughts and emotions that he no longer listened to it, not realising that the body lying on the floor wasn't even attempting to fight back as he lashed out again, forcing a well aimed punch into the side of Markov's skull almost on instinct.

He'd grabbed the Russian by the very strands of his blonde hair to pull him to his feet when the force of what felt like a car hit him from behind, knocking him firmly off his already unsteady feet. Disorientated, Ghost was suddenly flat on his back, a bright blue sky contrasting with the dark features of Soap, who was now attempting to restrain him on the floor. But he was too far gone, and Ghost struggled to free himself, landing a firm, bruising punch to Soap's left cheek in the process. The Captain grunted with pain, retaliating with a heavy punch of his own that sent white sparks flickering across Riley's vision instantly.

"Ghost…Ghost!" Eyelashes fluttered across his vision momentarily as Riley tried to regain some orientation, an intense burning thundering at his left temple. He swallowed hard, letting his body go limp and his head drop back against the sand underneath him. Mactavish seemed to notice the change and he loosened his grip on Ghost's shoulders, still watching him cautiously. But Riley was determined to avoid his gaze, instead using the Captain's lapse in strength to throw him off and right himself, forgetting that the action would put Soap in an intense amount of pain in the process. As he stood, Ghost's gaze clashed momentarily with Markov's, who was limping towards the base with the help of Artem. What he saw haunted him. The only emotion he found in Markov's was not contempt, or wrath as it should have been, but simply the same angered confusion that had dwelt there since the very moment of Lev's death…

"You still even in there?" Soap half screamed at him, giving Ghost an incredulous look. When the lieutenant chose not reply, he gave him a harsh shove, his tone sharp and authoritative. "My quarters…_now_. We're fucking talking about this."

"I don't answer to you."

"Right now, mate…" Soap shook his head, stepping forwards and twisting Riley's arm up behind his back with a force that a man in his state shouldn't have possessed. "You don't have a choice…"

They'd managed to maintain a forced silence the whole time it took them to get to Soap's room. Ghost had instantly torn himself from the Captain's grasp, but he hadn't made any other attempt to argue, allowing himself to be led back into the base. The brief pause had given Riley chance to calm down and for him to become aware of his surroundings a little more, a feeling he didn't necessarily like as it dawned on him what exactly had just happened. Soap however remained silent and impassive, his features completely unreadable until they were shut within the privacy of his quarters.

When he found himself being pushed up against the door, two hands scrunched within the collar of his shirt and his head bouncing off metal, Ghost couldn't say that he was surprised.

"What the_ fuck_ was that, Riley?" The anger in Mactavish's eyes was unlike anything Ghost had seen in a while, but he didn't shy away from it, making sure that he glared back equally as fiercely.

"You heard what he said…" The lieutenant muttered, as if that suddenly redeemed him for absolutely everything. "About Roach…"

"He didn't _mean_ any of that."

"He still shouldn't have said it."

"For fucks sake, Simon! He's like a kid who's lost his Dad right now…he's angry, confused and to top it all off he's fucking terrified. You really think he's thinking clearly?" Soap rolled his eyes, pushing Ghost back against the door hard before letting go of his collar, almost in disgust as he stepped backwards. "He needed someone to blame…You were the easiest target."

"And that makes it right then does it?" Riley scoffed, a hand attempting to straighten his collar out of some misplaced sense of self preservation. "Face it, John…if that had been me out there I'd have been out of line…"

"And you weren't?" Mactavish let out a dark laugh. "The way I saw it Markov wasn't the one beating you fucking senseless…"

"I was going to stop…"

"Really? Before or_ after_ he was half dead?" Soap rolled his eyes, angered hands running through his hair. "We all fucking lose it, Riley…but that…" He paused, biting his lip. "…That wasn't just _one_ punch."

"I blanked out." Riley leant back against the door, banging his head back against the metal in a desperate attempt to find some clarity. "…You know me, John…"

"Yeah…I _do_." Mactavish shook his head slowly. "But the Riley I know could stand one hell of a lot more than what Markov just threw at you…" He shrugged, almost defeated. "You were never _that_ quick to anger…"

"I told you I've changed."

"That an excuse?"

"It's a reason."

"Same thing." Hesitating, Soap stepped forwards so that he could look at Ghost in the eye again. There was already a darkening pink bruise forming a crescent underneath his left eye and Riley winced at the memory of the punch he had thrown at his lover's face. "Can I say something?"

"You haven't already?"

"Roach…" The Captain sighed softly. "You've _got_ to let him go."

"I can't."

"And I can't let you have such an obvious weak spot…" Soap shrugged. "Morale is low…people say things they shouldn't. It _will _happen again. And I can't afford to have you being so…fucking fragile."

"You weren't there…" Riley shook his head dismissively. "You didn't see what Shepherd did. You haven't _felt_ it."

"I know. But we all have shit to deal with, Riley."

"I'm fucking _dealing_ with it…"

"That's the problem…" Soap shook his head. "Your not." He nodded towards Roach's dog tags that were just visible around Ghost's neck. "Don't think I haven't noticed…"

"I can't lose him." There was a pain in Riley's voice that only Soap could detect, but it was as close as he knew the lieutenant would come to breaking in front of anyone. "Markov was right…I did abandon him…I fucking _left_ him, John."

"He was _dead_, Simon…"

"I could have done something!"

"Like what?" Soap rolled his eyes. "I could have radioed in five minutes earlier and warned you. Saved you both. Don't you think I'm paying for that just as fucking much?" Mactavish sighed, leaning closer to Riley, his good hand steadying his weight against the door by Ghost's face.

"It's not the same…"

"But it's still fucking _hard_." In an almost terrifying display of affection, Soap closed the distance between them, resting his forehead against Ghost's, the constant pressure suddenly making the sore skin around Riley's right eye sting. "You _have_ to deal with this…you hear me?"

"And if I can't…?"

"Then don't make me choose between you and doing what's right." Soap pulled back, making sure that Riley could see the regret and concern that lingered in his iced blue eyes. "Because you know that I won't be _able_ to choose you."

* * *

The constant crackle of the radio was beginning to drive him insane.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Price looked over to Nikolai, who was still sat by the radio, listening intently with his ear practically pressed to the receiver. The air around them was thick with cigarette and cigar smoke, a heady cloud floating above the oak operations table. By his side sat a bottle of brandy, something that had started the day full, and was by now more than half empty.

Tipping the rest of the brandy from his glass into his mouth, Price turned his attentions back to the papers that lay in front of him, absent mindedly reaching for another cigarette in the process. Inserting the fragile paper object into his mouth he lit it effortlessly, his eyes continually fixed to the documents as he did so. They were print outs of the intel that Ghost had already decrypted, and although most of it was useless information, at least reading through it all soothed his restless mind and made him feel as if he was actually _doing_ something.

Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, Price smirked as his eyes found a particular directive hidden within all the intel. _Directive one-one-six bravo._ The order Shepherd had executed when he and Soap had breached the base. According to the directive plans, the entire base should have been pumped so full of C4 that it was erased, quite literally, from the face of the earth. It at least amused him to think that two men with a grudge had managed to prevent that from happening…

"Price…" There was another electronic gurgle as Nikolai retuned the radio, his free hand waving for Price to come closer. "Listen…frequency 7."

Frequency 7. Many of the men on the base were ex-Ultranationalists, although none of them were extremists like Makarov or his followers, many just drawn into the political ideal when Russia elected its Ultranationalist president some years ago. Either way, due to the nature of their lives, many had severed all ties to the rest of the world, and as a result the Russian authorities regarded them as MIA and most likely dead. The fact that they no longer posed a "threat" meant that they were able to provide Nikolai and the others with some valuable sources of intel, generally in form of radio frequencies that they once used to communicate before their defection. Frequency 7, as it had come to be known, was one such source. So far it had proved fairly useless; a minor frequency used by a handful of the Ultranationalist forces.

More to humour his long time friend than anything else, Price moved forward, leaning over Nikolai's shoulder to listen the burbles of Russian audible above the white noise of the receiver. There was definitely something being said, but the sounds were too soft for him to make out more than the occasional word.

"Can you make this thing any louder?"

"What do you think I spend time doing?" Nikolai rolled his eyes. "This is as loud as it will go."

"Great…" Leaning in that bit closer, Price tried to concentrate harder, but it made no difference. "Sorry, mate. It's too quiet."

"They're a patrol…in the Ural Mountains. Near the border with Kazakhstan…" Nikolai leant in closer, his face contorted as he tried to make out the faint words. "They are reporting an increase of soldiers in the area…Men who _shouldn't _be there…"

"And?"

"It could be a lead…" The Russian nodded softly. "Makarov's men could have access to military uniforms…"

"Or it could be a typical military comms breakdown." Price laughed darkly. "Hardly incriminating, mate."

"It sounds strange…" Nikolai shook his head quickly. "Too large patrols in one desolate area…with a war waging?" He laughed softly. "If its real then its blind stupidity…"

"Possibly. Makarov is intelligent enough to know that sticking close to the Russian's keeps the American's off his back." The Captain shrugged. "He's a cunning bastard."

"What do you suggest?"

"I trust you, Nikolai." Price smiled quickly, straightening up and resting a friendly hand on the man's shoulder. "Keep listening, record anything of interest…if you think it's something, then you could be right."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then we've got a place to cross off the list." Standing up Price laughed cynically. "We're trying to find a needle in a global haystack…right now I'd happily take anything we can get our hands on."

"Understood." Nikolai smiled back, watching curiously as the Captain moved towards the operations room door. "Where are you going?"

"To find Ghost. This bit of information might make sifting through Shepherd's files easier…" He shrugged. "We find something in _there_, and we might need that flight to Kazakhstan, mate."

* * *

**And so we end chapter 16 on the cusp of a discovery and with poor old Ghost having to make a tricky decision. Eitherway, morale is low, and everyone's getting that 'after Christmas' feeling, so what could be better than cheering them up with a review? Ghost will be offering out his usual New Year hugs and kisses naturally. **

**And on an ever serious note, thank you for reading this far. You support/feedback makes my job so much easier. :) **

**-x-S-x- **


	17. Cabin Fever

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them. _

**Note from Sassy: **So I'm back with more NSD, desperately trying to write these chapters for you beautiful people as quickly as possible. I promise that I am going to keep updating too. And on that, relatively brief note for me, I am going to get replying to all the awesome and motivating reviews that you guys are so kind to give me! :D

**xGhostxStealth: **Don't feel terrible! But thank you so very much. I'm afraid it wouldn't really be me without throwing a fair bit of angst into my chapters. Although I am very relieved that I don't make it too over dramatic, I do worry about going a bit over the top with the descriptions every so often. I hope you enjoy this chapter! As always, thank you so much. :)

**xStealthxSniperx: **I kept changing my mind whilst writing it to be honest…but I guess that's what loads of arguments are like in the real world, I liked the greyness of it all. Either way, never fear, as this chapter hopefully proves Ghost will never really forget Roach. Thanks so much for the lovely review!

**Yunalein: **Well everyone is in pain for different reasons I guess. And I'm glad you agree with how Ghost feels about Roach. It must be really difficult to be the "survivor" and I was really trying to capture that without it all being a bit melodramatic. There's plenty of Mactavish in this chapter for you though, I hope you like it! Thank you. :)

**VerityA: **I do feel a little mean that I've pretty much made all of my characters depressed in one way or another. But thank you sweetie! Although I kind of agree, Markov is more alone and conflicted, where as Ghost has a sexy Captain to distract him. Lol and I'm sorry I stole your title… :P

**Dragonmorph: **Hello there! Thank you very much for your awesome review; it made me all kinds of happy. Feel free to stalk me as much as you like, just as long as you keep enjoying the chapters! :)

**SarkastinenNasse: **I love that…McRiley, :D. And thank you so much, really, your reviews are really making my day here! I also worry that I'm either being a bit too fluffy or a bit to angsty, so I am so pleased that you think I have the combination of the two about right. As for the characters, well I am very honoured by that. I like them to be as fleshed out as possible. :) Thanks so much, I hope you enjoy this chapter too. :D

**Reeserella: **Well poor old Ghost did lose it. But he's an angry, confused soldier, I guess violence is second nature to him. I'm glad you're enjoying hugging the boys! :P Thanks so much for the review. :)

**UrgentOrange:** Your review spurred me on to write another chapter, so thank you! :D

_Now...let's get on with chapter 17… :)_

* * *

It should have been so easy.

All he had to do was to relinquish the grip of his right hand, but somehow the small action felt ridiculously big, a seemingly impossible task. The metallic dog tags that dangled from his hand chimed in the desert breeze, but to Ghost they were heavy, almost welded into his fist. He'd told himself over and over what he had to do, what he _needed_ to, but now that the time was at hand it suddenly just wasn't so simple anymore.

He wasn't a man of elaborate actions and symbolism, but Riley still knelt there in the sand, Lev's grave barely ten metres to his right. In front of him his hands had clawed out a small pit in the sand and earth, barely the diameter of one of his fists. _Roach's_ _grave_, or at least a small token of the one that his friend had been denied. Ghost bit his lip, a part of him despising himself for what he was about to do. For a year, he had carried the last remainder of his best friend with him, but now all that simply had to stop. John had been right; it had gone on far too long and this combined with Lev's death had made Ghost realise something. He still had every intention of returning Roach's dog tags to his family, but realistically the only time he could do that would be when the war was finally over, something that seemed too far off and distant to even contemplate. And if Lev's death had taught Riley anything, then it was the simple reality that he might not _live_ to see that day himself…

"Quite a show you put on there." It would have sounded judgemental from anyone else, but some how Price's voice in the lonesome air was strangely comforting. Riley span round, unsure of whether or not he should be embarrassed as the older man took a few steps closer. He watched as Price's eyes flicked between the "grave" and him, awaiting a smirk or a look of confusion, yet never finding one. Instead Price seemed content to fish a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it quickly before dropping to his knees beside Ghost. He took a deep, almost thoughtful drag from his cigarette, nodding to the hole in the ground in front of them. "That for Roach?"

"I guess…" Riley suddenly felt ridiculous and he avoided the Captain's gaze as much as possible, staring into the ground. "I need to forget him."

"Not forget…" Price shook his head. "But you can't keep beating the shit out of anyone who mentions him." He paused, laughing to himself. "Sure…the kid did ask for it this time."

"I lost it." Riley sighed. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"From what I heard…neither was he."

"He didn't touch me though…did he?"

"No…" Price paused, rocking back on his heels and taking another drag from his cigarette. "But what he said…" He shrugged. "You have to understand that every man on this base has lost someone."

"Fucking walking wounded." Riley laughed darkly. "I think just 'losing' Roach would have been easier than this."

"You can't keep blaming yourself forever."

"And what the fuck would you know?" Ghost spat, his tone bitter. He finally turned to the Captain, meeting his intense stare through his sunglasses.

"Plenty." Price's face morphed into another soft smile, as if he was enjoying the bitterness that Riley threw at him, or at least as if he was expecting it. He took his time continuing, content to let the desert hum around them as he finished his cigarette, extinguishing it casually in the sand. "…_Macmillan_...toughest son of a bitch I'd ever met…or ever will meet. He was my CO back in the SAS."

"Were you close?"

"Not at first." The Captain shook his head. "The man had to trust you to ever really get to know you. Took at least three months of ops before we were truly friends." He laughed, shaking his head. "Best sniper I've ever met, ruthless bastard too if you caught him in the wrong mood but bloody indestructible. Knives, bullets, hell he was even crippled by a downed helicopter. They said he'd never be back on active service again but…he made it back alright."

"And what happened?"

"We were behind enemy lines, caught up in a fire fight that our intel told us was impossible. One of them got lucky with a grenade, landed right in amongst us. We scattered. When the dust cleared we realised that Macmillan hadn't got away in time." Price shook his head slowly, his tongue licking at his lips. "Blamed myself for years."

"You couldn't have done anything…"

"Think about anything long enough and you find ways around it." Price shrugged. "But like I said, you can't keep blaming yourself forever." He nodded to the dog tags in Ghost's hand. "Let him go. People like that leave a mark on you, you _won't_ forget him." He smiled weakly, moving to stand up. As he turned to leave, there was the brief, distinct pressure of him giving Ghost's shoulder a quick squeeze. "Come find me when you're finished. I might have some information to make that decryption a bit easier."

Alone again, Ghost ran an absent minded thumb across the dog tags, his gloved hand detecting every ridge and dip in the metal. He closed his eyes, trying to think over what Price had said. After all, maybe he was right. Maybe this was finally the day when Ghost _stopped_ blaming himself.

There was a resounding, yet muffled thud as the dog tags hit the packed down earth at the bottom of the hole. As Ghost began to fill it in, he could only hope that Price was right…

* * *

"Sit _still_…" Artem warned, steadying his hand as he finished off the stitch in Markov's lip. When he fidgeted again he used his free hand to slap at the younger man's arm. "I told you."

"I'm fine." Markov shrugged, ignoring the grimace the action received from the medic. "It's _nothing_."

"I'll be the judge of that." Artem grunted, finally pulling away. "It would have been neater without your stubbornness."

Soap had been watching them in the operations room for some time now. He'd been absently flicking through some files and desperately trying to distract his thoughts from Ghost when he'd become distracted by the seemingly parental exchange. He didn't understand a word of the hushed Russian that was flying back and forth between them, but he didn't have to be a linguist to understand that he wasn't the only one to make things difficult for the base's medic.

His eyes scanning back down to papers, Soap tried to focus his mind on the print that lay there. But it was hopeless. He was still worried. Ghost had stormed off immediately after their talk and although Soap had wanted to follow him and make sure that the lieutenant didn't do something fucking stupid, he'd forced himself not to. After all, he knew the look in Riley's eyes all too well. Right now, anything Soap said would be wrong, hurtful and they would both end up being pulled into another argument where judgemental things would be yelled and hasty punches thrown. After that morning, Soap could fully accept that right now that was the last thing Riley needed.

"Your friend needs to learn who his friends are." Soap hadn't even been aware of Artem being stood next to him until his voice broke the thoughtful silence in his mind. He hesitated slightly, taking his time to register the words before lifting his head, cocking a confused scarred eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"I know you heard me." The medic nodded to where Markov was sat across the operations table from them. "You saw what he did."

"I _stopped_ it."

"Not soon enough." Artem practically snarled. "You should control your men."

"Riley_ isn't_ one of my men. Not anymore." Soap was biting down on his tongue now, the familiar burn of anger beginning to bubble in his stomach.

"So he is allowed to do this?" Artem laughed darkly. "After today we do not want him here."

"What are you saying?"

"That we won't tolerate him treating us like _dogs_…Not here."

"Ghost _stays_. You understand me?" Soap was standing up; making sure that he was eye to eye with Artem. "He won't do this again."

"And if he does?"

"He _won't_."

"You trust him…That is a mistake." Artem smiled, almost cruelly. "Don't worry…we all know exactly _why _you trust him."

"That has got nothing to do with this." The warning tone in Soap's voice was not to be underestimated.

"Really? So you're not…how do you say… _bias_ to him, yes?" The medic laughed, stepping forwards confrontationally. "He was clever to fuck with _you_…"

"That's enough." Soap closed the distance between them, using every inch of height and weight advantage over the slighter medic. "…I'm _sorry_ that Markov got hurt and I'm _sorry_ that your friend died." He gave him the most sincere nod that he could manage. "But I'm not letting you take all this out on Ghost."

"And there it is…" Artem laughed, his features mocking in every way. "…If it were any other man…you would not defend them like _this_…"

He didn't like being questioned or challenged and so Soap was pulling back his fist ready to strike the arrogant medic in the face as his only response. He didn't care whether the anger that was now propelling its way through his system was because of what Artem had said or because it was about Ghost, but right then all Mactavish really wanted to do was to wipe that smug, knowing smile off the doctor's face.

"Stop it!" He'd lunged forwards when Soap had finally became aware of Markov's voice cutting above them all, the younger Russian suddenly appearing in his vision by Artem's side. He was bloodied and bruised, but the anger in his eyes was unmistakable as he grabbed Artem's arms and pulled him backwards towards him. When he spoke again his voice was an audible blur of angry Russian. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? I will not cause another fight…not today…" When Artem tried to argue back, Markov quickly silenced him. "Do you think _this_ is what Lev would have wanted?"

Soap watched as Artem stood down with a snarl, wrenching his arms from Markov's grasp. He fixed Soap with an angry glare, but withdrew, stepping around Markov and away from them both. When he spoke again his Russian words were lost on Soap, but his tone was thick with anger and frustration.

"You need to remember who your_ true_ friends are, Markov."

As the door to the operations room slammed shut, Markov's bruised, blackened eyes flicked momentarily to Soap. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, instead taking a few steps backwards towards the door himself. This time he gave the Captain a slow, dignified nod, his voice soft and unsure when he finally did speak out. "I should go follow him…"

Surrounded by an almost unnerving silence, Soap sat back down at his desk, his head almost automatically falling into his hands. He hated him for it, but Artem's words were now firmly fixed into his head, echoing around amongst all of his loyalties and justifications. Had the medic been right? Was Soap so blinded by whatever he felt for Ghost that he couldn't see the damage he was truly doing? Or was Artem simply using his own anger to blame Riley, just like Markov? Tired hands rubbed at his temples. Soap didn't _know _anymore. There had always been a small rift between him and the Russian soldiers, mainly due to the language barrier and the fact that they seemed happier speaking to each other rather than to him. But right now, that rift had morphed into a large divide. At a time when they needed to be as cohesive a unit as possible, the cracks were beginning to show, relationships buckling and straining amongst the claustrophobic confines of their underground base. And for the first time, Soap actually found himself asking a bitterly uncomfortable question. Was that partly because of Ghost?

He didn't like feeling so conflicted, but at the same time Soap recognised the possibility. It had been one of his concerns when they were back in the 141, with Riley making himself so 'available' and Mactavish slowly beginning to realise that he liked it. It had been harder and harder to resist the temptation, but the one thing that had always stopped him was the worry that starting any kind of "relationship" with Ghost would result in a slight, yet noticeable shift in power. After all, command in the 141 was a powerful yet fragile thing and any inkling among the men that Soap was treating Riley any different could have been a disaster for them all. But now…well the 141 was a thing of the past and Soap actually believed, however naïvely that maybe it just didn't matter anymore, that he and Ghost were no longer important enough to impact on anything, _whatever_ they did. But in mere seconds, Artem's furious words had sewn the seeds of doubt in his mind.

After all, what if he _was_ wrong?

* * *

The rest of the day had crawled by in its own mundane routine. Soap had been keen to avoid the others as much as possible and had been glad of Price entertaining him with hushed conversations about the frequency 7 intel that Nikolai had uncovered. Through close monitoring of the frequency they had managed to discover that the group were by no means Russian soldiers, but even then that didn't tell them for sure that the group were Ultranationalists, never mind harbouring Makarov. And as Nikolai had pointed out very eloquently, they really didn't want to be attacking random groups of terrorists and making themselves _even more_ hated in the process.

Not that this seemed to bother Price. His only response had been through the heavy exhale of a large cloud of smoke, his words hushed enough so that Nikolai wouldn't be able to catch his meaning.

"Not that it matters. If there's even a chance that Makarov is in there then we're going in before the Russian army get their hands on him…If they get to him first…then we're well and truly _buggered_."

Soap had gone to bed early, his body feeling more bruised and tormented than usual after his scuffle with Ghost. He didn't regret tackling the lieutenant in the slightest, but the action had left the wounds in his torso feeling strained and fragile, along with the throbbing pain left behind from Riley's heavier than usual punch to the face. A shower had barely alleviated any of the pain, but Soap didn't dare go to Artem for any medication for fear of being poisoned, instead crawling into his bed and hoping that darkness would snatch him into sleep. Not that it did, even after a good hefty few swigs of whisky to try and aid it.

_Ghost._ Soap hated how the man constantly seemed to be in his thoughts. He hadn't spoken to him since that morning, the lieutenant seemingly making it his business to be everywhere that Soap wasn't. The last he'd heard from Price, Ghost was back working in the operations room, his head focused on his decryptions and very little else. Soap let out a small sigh in the dark. It was_ typical_ Ghost. The lieutenant was prone to burying his head in work and letting the purely logical side to him take over when he wanted to avoid anything complex. His feelings about Roach, Soap and the rest of the base seemed to have driven him to that quite effectively.

Turning painfully, Soap reached for the picture stuck to the wall beside his bed, his thumb idly tracing across the girl's face. It was an old picture, but it was the only thing personal that he would ever let himself carry, a small token of back home. Of all he had left. _Sarah._ A sad smile worked its way across his features. She'd be twenty five now, but in his head she was still his baby sister. It had been nearly a year and a half since he had actually _spoken_ to her. They'd been close, but as he progressed through the army he'd lost more and more of himself to it and as a result, he'd lost her too. She'd lost both her parents and everyday she faced the possibility of losing her only brother, in reality John could hardly blame her for resenting him for that. He'd beat himself up for hours about how selfish he had been, how he had never _thought_, but none of that did any good now. Even without the army, they will still separated, John not even able to write to his sister for the fear that it might endanger her. He blinked hard, turning his back to the picture and trying to blank out these new, self indulgent and painful thoughts. It was better for Sarah if she thought he was dead…

He must have fallen asleep as when Soap opened his eyes, a crack of light was streaking across his vision as his bedroom door was closed softly. He squinted through the gloom, recognising the near silent footsteps to be of Ghost, although there was no speech to tell him otherwise. Soap remained silent, listening his only tool for working out what Riley was doing in the gloom. There was a hesitant silence, and then, slowly but surely the definite sound of fabric being pulled away from skin, the rustle and chink as jeans were undone and pushed down to the floor. Soap raised a curious eyebrow to himself in the dark, before moving instinctively to the side when there was a firm dip in the mattress as Riley sat down beside him. Silently, the lieutenant laid down and settled himself against the pillows, his forearm the only thing that was actually _touching _Soap. For a brief moment Mactavish toyed with the idea of saying something, or leaning over and instigating something far more physical between them, but he decided against it. After all, if Ghost wanted to talk, or for that matter fuck, then Soap realised that he would have _already_ started something.

It was the first time that they had ever slept together without fucking, a strange, almost alien feeling registering in the back of Soap's skull. After all, it seemed so much more intimate to fall asleep next to Riley without the usual post coital haze. But when the body beside him began to breathe that little bit more heavily, Soap let his good hand stray out and close the distance between them, resting gently against Riley's bare bicep. It was only a small gesture and of course his hand would be long gone before morning, but it was still _there_, a comforting warmth soothing his thoughts. For a split second at least, all of the doubts were gone, withered away until they were so small that they no longer mattered.

Because right then, they _didn't_.

* * *

**So rivalries are getting in the way of the team dynamic and as always there's lots of angst lurking around every corner. Will the team be able to cooperate and find Makarov? I couldn't possibly say… But of course, if you feel like inspiring our downtrodden Ghost and Soap with your reviews, then I'm sure they'd happily pay you back in hugs. :) **

**And on a more sane note, thanks again so much for your continued support! It means the world to me. **

**-x-S-x- **


	18. Ready Up

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Also! This chapter is rated M for explicit (ish) scenes. You have been warned. **_

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them. _

**Note from Sassy: **Ok, so I got my head together and decided that I needed to have a big think about where this series is going, which I have, and as a result I have a new chapter all ready for you. Due to the content this one is written a little bit differently so that it flows, but hopefully you won't mind that. And before I get really overexcited and ramble too much, I'm going to get replying to all my awesome reviewers! :)

**VerityA: **Haha you know what I thought about the last chapter… :P Hopefully this one is a teeny bit better and more eventful. I'm glad you liked the Macmillan thing though…to be honest I loved him so much in MW that I had to slot him in somewhere, if only fleetingly… :P

**Yunalein: **You summed it up perfectly. I guess its like with all loss, except Ghost has the added pain of blaming himself too. I'm sorry that I broke you though, although I'm glad that it came across as that emotive. There's lots more Soap again in this chapter too. :)

**xGhostxStealth:** Well the plot thickens in this chapter…so I hope you like the way it turns out! As for the base being divided, well I guess they're a load of men trapped in a confined space with a language barrier…who can blame them? Lol I'm also so very glad that I'm not making your two favourite badasses too soppy either! :P

**gazlover12: **Why thank you for reviewing. :)

**Reeserella:** And I can only thank you for reading and reviewing my dear. And of course you get Ghost hugs too. :)

**SarkastinenNasse: **Another quick update for you my dear! And thank you so much! I'm glad that the dialogue between Price and Ghost worked out, since it kinda worried me. Ghost and Soap definitely need a bit more peace and quiet though if you ask me, but Price has other plans. *sighs* As for the flashbacks, I shall have to see. Thanks for the lovely review!

**wingtipped:** After your review, I love you too. :D Thanks so much for your review, I'm very glad you like my Ghost too. :D

**xStealthxSniperx:** Me, foreshadowing? Never… :P I have been known to use foreshadowing red herrings too though. As for Ghost and Soap, at least we know they can defend themselves eh? Thanks for the awesome review as always. :D

**CallOfBooty: ***blushes epically* Thank you so much! That was a ridiculous compliment, and I'm not sure what to say. All I can say is I'm glad that you're enjoying the slash and the characterisations…that makes me unbelievably happy. And as I'm sure I've said before, your story wasn't pathetic, but don't worry about it, just keep writing. :) As for the avatar…why thank you again. ;)

_And so without further ado…let's get on with some NSD shall we?_

* * *

**"…**_**Five…"**_

As Soap slowly became aware of his surroundings, the soft pressure of lips against his torso was the very first thought that spun through his mind.

The second was that they were working their way _downwards_…

As teeth nipped at the skin just above his hip bone, Soap arched his back off the mattress, although he tried his hardest to pass off the sudden jerk of movement as an attempt to sit up, his hands quickly reaching to pull the covers up and out of the way. There was a breathy, almost satisfied laugh that was characteristic to Riley and hot air suddenly tingled across Soap's still damp skin, forcing a shudder through his body. Craning his neck somewhat painfully, he looked down to Ghost, only just able to see his face looking up at him in the gloom.

"What the fuck, Simon?" It had meant to be a confused and almost angry question, but as teeth raked against the skin of his abdomen again the words came out almost as a choked rasp. Soap wriggled and squirmed, his hands trying to grab Riley's face and pull him back up the bed, but they were easily caught and pinned helplessly to mattress at his sides. There was another self satisfied laugh.

"Oh _shut up_…"

He'd wanted to argue, but any coherent thought was lost the mere instant Riley pressed forward and took him into his mouth. Soap wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was so damned out of practice at all this, or because Riley genuinely had a talent for it, but the action alone almost sent shimmers of white blazing across his vision. The rational part of his brain was telling him that he should stop Ghost and keep talking like the lieutenant so obviously wanted to avoid, but with each repetitive motion of Riley's mouth Soap was more and more willing to push that part of him aside. After all, talking could _wait_…

Breathless and sated, Soap dropped back down against the mattress, his eyes closed as his hand quickly disentangled itself from the mess of Riley's hair. In his haze Mactavish was vaguely aware of Riley moving back up his body, an uncharacteristically soft kiss fleetingly gracing his abdomen, so brief that Soap doubted that it had happened in the first place. The lieutenant crawled back to his place at Soap's side, lying down contented, his arms folding behind his head almost arrogantly.

"Morning…"

"_Fuck…_" Mactavish drew his hand almost wearily across his eyes, tilting his head to the right in an attempt to look at Riley in the gloom. "Give me more warning next time, mate."

"A wise old SAS sergeant told me that the element of surprise was _everything_." Riley laughed quickly. "I guess he was right…"

"Maybe…" Soap smirked. "But I thought you hated being dominated?"

"Its not dominating if it's voluntary."

"Really?" Mactavish laughed, nudging Riley in the arm although he was in no rush to retract away from the contact straight away. "I'm gonna have to remember that one." He groaned, glancing at his watch in the dark gloom of the room. "It's _morning_…"

"Not that you can tell in here…" Riley scoffed. "Fucking black pit…"

"You'll get used to it."

"Maybe I won't have to."

"What?" Soap gave him an almost worried look. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I might have found something." Ghost shrugged passively. "The frequency 7 intel gave me some more hooks, I knew more what I was actually _looking_ for."

"What?" Soap was sitting up almost instantly, his wounds whining all the while. "You've _found_ Makarov?"

"I didn't say that." Ghost shook his head slowly. "I found some possible safehouse locations and some stuff that must have come from our DSM…but there's a lot of Russian in there too so I need Price to verify it."

"Did you _tell_ him?"

"Do you think if I had I would have been able to just do _that_?" Riley rolled his eyes. "It was _late,_ everyone aside from the sentries were fucking asleep. Hell…call me selfish but _I_ wanted to get some sleep too." He sighed. "I figured it could wait 'till morning."

"Price will kill you."

"Price isn't going to _know_." Riley laughed softly. "I'll go in there, make that I've been working early this morning…you can vouch for me there."

"Whoa…hang on…" Soap smirked, turning on his side. "Don't bring me into this."

"What do you think earlier was for?" Ghost grinned.

"Bribery and corruption, eh?"

"Or you could call it celebration." Riley laughed again, although this time he swung his legs out of bed, sitting upright as he did so and stretching his back. "Either way we _have_ to get up."

"Hang on…" In a move the speed of which surprised himself Soap darted forwards, his hands grabbing Riley's shoulders and pulling him back down against the mattress. Nimbly he leveraged himself over Ghost, straddling him to the bed and pacifying him with a rough and ready suck just below his left ear. "You're going nowhere. If I remember rightly, that celebration was all a bit…one sided."

"I've got to go talk to Price…" Riley argued, however unconvincing it might have sounded.

"And?" Soap arched a scarred eyebrow, tracing his tongue across the now pink skin. "Price can wait five minutes…_can't he_?"

**"…_Four…"_**

"The Ural Mountains, south west Russia." Price pointed to the area on the map, the eyes of every man gathered around the operations table upon him. "The target building is an old Soviet cement bunker from the Cold War. It was used as an outpost until the 90's when it was replaced by _this_…" He pointed to a new area on the map, barely a few kliks away from the bunker. "…newer outpost. It's supposed to be derelict…but frequency 7 tells us differently."

"We're at _war_…" Artem interrupted gruffly. "Plans change."

"But as Nikolai pointed out…why have two patrols in such a small area? Especially when the chatter on frequency 7 is telling us that no one seems to know why this patrol is actually _there…_"

"Coincidence." A few of the other Russian's nodded in agreement.

"Quite possibly." Price nodded, although he slid a thin bundle of paper across the table to Artem as he did so. "But in Shepherd's files we dug up this…It's the intel that the General had on Makarov at the time, including the two locations we raided. Shepherd picked the two least likely candidates so that he could take out what remained of the 141…leaving the others to be raided by Shadow Company to actually acquire Makarov."

"Then if Shepherd had the intel all along…" Soap spoke out slowly. "Then how do we know that he didn't check the Ural Mountains bunker?"

"Because the intel Shepherd had on this safehouse was poor…too vague and nondescript to warrant action." The older Captain shrugged. "Even if Shepherd had wanted to check out this mountain range, simply knowing that Makarov might be hiding somewhere near the Kazakhstan border just wasn't specific enough for an assault."

"And so how does this 'precious' intel help us?" Artem almost spat.

"Because we have the intel from frequency 7 too…piece the two together and we have a possibility."

"But it's just that…a possibility." The concern in Nikolai's features was rare and therefore unnerving. "My friend…this is not what you call _solid_ intel…"

"I've gone on operations with less." Price shrugged. "And it's all we have…"

"Then it would be sensible to _wait._" Nikolai replied bluntly. "Gather more intel if it can be done."

"Great…And then while we're at it why don't we just hand Makarov over on a bloody platter to the Russians?" Price rolled his eyes, his grip on the table edges increasing, knuckles turning white. "We already _know_ they're getting suspicious. The country's on fucking red alert as it is…if they have an unknown group of soldiers under their noses then they're going to go in there, sooner rather than later."

"And would it be so bad for the Russian government to take Makarov?" Nikolai hissed, his tone bitter. "They are equipped soldiers…we are scattered mercenaries on a forgotten base."

"The Russians don't know the _truth _about Makarov…" Price shook his head. "The most he'll be to them is a terrorist…it won't _change_ anything."

"And that's what this is? About change? Not you blindly chasing Makarov at risk to us all?" Nikolai scoffed angrily. "Because right now, Price, my men feel as if they are fighting for _your _grudge…" There was a rumble of agreement from the others.

"This isn't about petty grudges…" Soap injected, his fist hitting against the wood to gain some form of quiet. "A war started a year ago…a war that should have never happened because two men designed it to. We are the only people who know that…"

"And who will listen? Tell me that!" Nikolai rolled his eyes. "Your government? Mine? We're _outlaws_…"

"We have the intel here…and we'll hand them Makarov as the scapegoat that he is."

"And if that is not enough?"

"It will be." Price nodded calmly, although his tone gave away his true anger. "You just have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Nikolai shrugged, looking back and forth to each of his men. "I owe you my loyalty, Price. But I have seen you be wrong many times…"

"And this time I'm certain."

"Then I will follow, my friend." The older Russian nodded solemnly. "But do not ask my men to do the same. They do not owe you that same loyalty as I do."

**"…_Three…" _**

Four hours later and the tension in the base had dissipated very little. The overall decision had been made, the plans drawn up, but after Nikolai's words had echoed solemnly through the operations room it was left up to each man's discretion as to whether he would participate in the operation. So far only three were certain; Price, Nikolai and Ghost. Unless the others came to their senses, the mission felt like it was already doomed to fail.

In the armoury, the only sound to cut through the heavy handed silence was the occasional rustle as Ghost continued to suit himself, pulling on his body armour and ensuring that it formed a snug fit that encased his torso. His gun was next as Riley meticulously checked over all the working parts, rechecking them in the manner that had been drilled into him during the SAS. After all, anyone who knew anything about the regiment knew that even though their official motto was "Who Dares Wins" a more accurate one would be "Check and check again".

"Back to the ACR then?" He'd heard Soap before he'd spoken, the larger man's footsteps easily recognisable as Riley turned round to face him.

"This gun's saved my arse more times than you." He laughed softly through his mask. "It deserves a little loyalty."

"True." Soap nodded, although his mind seemed to be elsewhere. His eyes settled on the far wall to where the spare body armour was hanging and he paused, before flicking his gaze back to Ghost. "I need you to help me with something, mate."

"What?"

"Body armour." Mactavish sighed softly. "Not sure I can pull it on myself…"

"John-"

"I_ know_ what you're going to say, Riley." The Captain quickly interrupted, lifting his hand as if to silence the lieutenant. He paused, blinking hard as if he was struggling to find the right words. "But I'm doing this. There's no way I'm staying behind again."

"You're not fit…"

"Don't try and tell me when I can and can't do my job."

"I'm trying to keep you alive, what's so fucking_ wrong_ with that?" Riley rolled his eyes. "Have you developed a death wise while I was gone?"

"You think I'm _trying_ to get myself killed?" Soap scoffed bitterly. He opened his mouth to reply with something equally as cutting, but he stopped himself suddenly realising that the conversation was quickly getting out of control. Taking a deep breath inwards, Mactavish inwardly calmed himself, making sure his voice was controlled before he spoke again. "I realise I'm not 100%...but this is _my_ fight, Simon. Just as much as it's yours."

"So you're going to risk yourself for nothing?" Riley however was content to argue.

"Not for nothing. We both lost one hell of a lot because of what Shepherd and Makarov did. If things were the other way around, are you really telling me that you'd want me to stop you resolving this?"

"No…" Ghost shook his head, cornered. "I'd want to go too."

"Then let me." Soap shrugged gently. "Because hunting Makarov for the past year has been all I've had left."

There was something in Soap's words that seemed to make logical sense and Riley was but a slave to the rational side of his thoughts, backing away silently and pulling a set of body armour from the wall. Slowly he slid the garment onto Soap's shoulders, pushing aside the almost fateful feeling that swelled within his stomach. However much he wanted to keep Soap away from the coming operation in his weakened state, Riley simply had to accept that he didn't have the right, not even within the 'relationship' that they shared.

"Can you move?" He was unable to hold off all the concern from his voice.

"Not really…but maybe that's best." Soap laughed softly. "I can shoot, that's what's important." He toyed with twisting in the armour, wincing slightly as he did so. "It's tighter with the bandages…"

"Do you need me to loosen it?"

"No." Mactavish shook his head bluntly. "Defeats the object of wearing it then doesn't it?" He risked Ghost a weak smile. "I'm going to be fine, mate. Like you said, it's going to take more than this lot to finish me off, eh?" He walked over to the other wall, retrieving his M16A4 as if to prove a point. "Thanks for the assist."

"I want to help." It took longer than it should have done for Ghost to realise that the voice that greeted him was not tainted by a Scottish accent and he span round, his eyes fixed on the armoury doorway. Stood in it was a defiant, if bruised Markov, his face swollen and purple, lip reddened where it had been split.

"Help?" It was the first thing Ghost could think of to say.

"To come with you." As if to assert this fact, Markov took a step into the room, visibly swallowing. "If you really want to put an end to this war…then I still want to be a part of that."

"It'll be rough…" Mactavish warned. "Maybe worse than at Hotel Bravo…"

"I don't care about that. My brother died in this false war…If there's even a chance that we can end it with Makarov…" Markov nodded, his face determined. "…Then I want to be a part of this. Whatever the cost."

"I won't lie…we need the help." Soap replied solemnly. "If you're sure, then get yourself kitted out. We need to be there before first light to do a recce."

"I understand." Almost tentatively, Markov walked slowly past Ghost, his head almost hanging. It was only when he was stood behind the lieutenant that he had the courage to turn around and speak. "…Riley?"

"…Yeah?"

"I'm sorry…for what I said about Roach." The young Russian sighed. "…I wasn't myself."

He was unable to reply with an apology with his own, even though he thought he should, so Riley merely nodded in return, a solitary, almost stoic acceptance of Markov's words. Mactavish's hand quickly squeezed at his shoulder and Ghost welcomed it, a break in the silence that seemed to have so quickly enveloped the entire room.

"Come on, mate. Let's give him some space."

They'd walked out into the artificially lit corridor only to be stopped by a line of seven of the other men on the base, each stood solemnly against the armoury. At their head was Artem, his eyes filled with the same look of discontent, arms tightly folded across his chest.

"We will come with you." He said bluntly, the words directed at Soap more than Riley, an almost aggressive tone tainting his voice. "Lev believed in this mission…wanted to put an end to this war. If nothing else, we owe at least this one thing to him." He nodded bluntly.

"Thank you."

"We're not doing this for you." Artem shook his head bluntly. "Remember that."

**"…_Two…" _**

They'd reached the Ural Mountains in the early hours, one of Nikolai's men piloting them into the area as close as he dared, forcing them to trek to the bunker on foot for the 10 kliks that remained. It had been an arduous journey, filled with rocky outcrops and steep gradients, one that had pushed Soap to the very brink of his endurance, but at least the cover of the think coniferous trees kept their movements silent and undetected on the hillside. After scouting through the area they stumbled across a rocky outcrop amongst the trees, tall enough to give them a vantage point of the bunker below, and large enough to provide them with some much needed shelter from the cold. Soap, Nikolai and the others had set about starting a fire, albeit only embers, whilst Price, Ghost and Markov had gone ahead, using the last hours of darkness to survey the bunker's surroundings. What had followed had been an uncomfortable few hours sleep on freezing ground, followed by a hushed breakfast and a morning filled with surveillance of the ground below them.

"Makarov's choice of safehouse has worked against him in our favour." Price nodded softly, presenting the rough blue prints that Ghost has managed to acquire for the bunker. "Because he's trying to keep a low profile he has no real sentries and due to the layout of the bunker there are only two possible exits. The entrance…" He pointed to the corresponding opening in the blueprints. "And the back door…a contingency plan in case the entrance was ever breached." He indicated again to the map. "We will divide into two groups. Nikolai and Artem will head team 2, who will breach the entrance and assault the bunker from the front. Myself and Soap will head team 1, breaching the rear exit." He looked up to make sure that he still had every man's full attention. "The two teams will sweep through the bunker in a pincer movement, neutralising any threats and cutting off Makarov's avenues of escape. If in the unlikely event that he manages to flank us, then two sentries will be posted at each exit point, blocking any possible escape routes… Any questions?"

"When we find Makarov…what then?" Artem asked coolly.

"Non lethal take downs only. The man is only good to us _alive_."

"And the rest of his men?" Nikolai asked next.

"Expendable." Price shrugged his face void of any emotion. "We don't have the resources to be taking prisoners." He raised an eyebrow, watching the others for anymore questions. All that greeted him was the occasional nod and Markov's hushed voice, providing an account in Russian for the men whose English was not as practiced as the others. "We move out at 2300 hours. There's likely to surveillance cameras at both entrances to the bunker, but by the time they see us it will be too late."

"_Understood._" Soap nodded quickly, trying to ignore the prickle in his skin as Artem injected him with more painkillers, whether he asked for them or not. "If you need rest…get it while you can. It's going to be a _long _night…"

**"…_One…" _**

Markov's heart was in his mouth. His pulse thundered in his wrists, eyes almost feeling as if they were about to bulge out of his skull due to his heightened blood pressure. He tried to grip his gun tighter, but his damp palms slid against metal, his forearms trembling. Everything he'd ever learnt, ever known as a soldier was flooding through his brain all at once, the logical part of him praying that all his training was still muscle memory, that when the frame charge finally blew it would all come flooding back; he'd remember how to shoot, how to kill and how to stay alive.

As it was, his mind had merely felt blank as the countdown continued, its pace tortuously slow.

"…_**Breaching!" **_

Markov took a deep breath, charging through the newly formed doorway after Soap, Ghost and Price. The dust cleared and he levelled his rifle. It literally was now or never…

* * *

**And so we finally have a bit of excitement (at least I hope so) back into our plot. Of course, things between the team are hardly perfect, and who says this is the right safehouse in the first place? Only time will tell. But if you feel like keeping Ghost and Soap in top fighting condition with your reviews, then that would be amazing. :) **

**As always I am so honoured by the response this series has got, so any reviews will literally make me so ridiculously happy. :) **

**-x-S-x- **


	19. Checkmate

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them. _

**Note from Sassy: **So, back into the swing of regular reviewing, here I am with more NSD for you, the key scene that I've been promising for a while. It's full of action though, which as we all know is not my writing forte, so I hope you'll forgive me if it reads a little bit more stunted than usual. And whilst I'm sitting here with my fingers crossed, hoping that you'll like it, I guess I should get to replying to your awesome reviews! :)

**xGhostxStealth:** Thank you! I'm so glad that you liked the countdown and I just hope that the cliffhanger was worth it all here. I hope the action is all you want it to be, and I apologise in advance if I suck at it a little… Thank you for the review!

**UrgentOrange:** Thank you sweetie! Every so often I like to try something new. I'll get my beta profile set up for you too whilst I remember. :)

**VerityA:** Haha you keep telling me and I never believe you. WHO does that remind you of? I am convinced this isn't going to be as exciting as your hoping for, but none the less, here it is… *Worries*

**Cynder fan: **Well I have a rambling style of writing that makes all my series pretty long. But thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)

**xStealthxSniperx: **Haha true, foreshadowing is a nice aspect in writing. I hope this chapter isn't a let down for you! As for Markov and Ghost…well its not going to be easy, but only time will tell. :) Thank you for the review!

**Reeserella:** Well I believe in variety…after all, smut and serious stuff go together in real life eh? :P I will pay for the Kleenex though. As always thank you for your review. :)

**CallofBooty:** Thank you! I was convinced that my plot would be full of plot holes… Cheers for the review, you're very kind. :)

**SarkastinenNasse:** You make perfect sense as always. :) Thank you so much for the lovely review, I'm so glad that the way Soap and Ghost are going is still keeping you interested. They're a married couple really with all the arguing. And I am so honoured that I inspired you! *hugs* I shall keep an eye out for your writing then? :)

_And now…its time for more NSD… *Drum roll*_

* * *

"_Chyort! _You're fucking cheating, I'm sure of it." Erik grumbled, slamming his handof playing guards down onto the table with frustration. He gave the younger man in front of him an evil glare, watching as he swept up his lost coins with a smirk.

"Just lucky, my friend." Anatoly grinned, adding his winnings to the pile. He gathered up the cards in his hands, shuffling them idly. "Another game?"

"I think I'm done."

"_Trus…" _The younger man laughed softly, leaning back in his stiff wooden chair. He glanced at his watch. "Two hours left…what else is there to do?"

"Right now boredom is better than you bankrupting me." Erik grunted his voice gruff as he hastily lit a cigarette. He glanced to his left, eyes flickering momentarily over the security monitor as he did so. There was nothing there of interest, just as there was _never _anything outside…

"All this fucking _hiding_…It's been a year, the man hunting us is dead…" Anatoly rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up so that they were resting on the table, crossed over at the ankle. He was as young and rash as Erik was old and experienced, filled with all the idealism and invincibility of youth.

"What else would you have us do?"

"_Fight!_" Anatoly laughed as though the answer was obvious. "We are already losing our stomach for this war, you heard Makarov. That _gad_ Vorshevsky hasn't got the balls…he fears for Moscow too much."

"And you claim to know better than Makarov?" Erik chuckled, smoke leaving his mouth in short bursts. "You should mind what you say, Anatoly."

"I don't understand why the others don't challenge him. I'm not the only one getting impatient."

"But you are the only one without sense." Erik sighed, stubbing out his cigarette and giving Anatoly a serious look. "The others know that challenging Makarov gets us nowhere. Only Yakov has that kind of power…"

"And he's not here, is he?" Anatoly scoffed. "The last we heard of him was two months ago…He half clears out the base and then _disappears_?" The younger Russian rolled his eyes. "For all we know he could be dead and we're next."

"Where's your optimism?" Erik smirked. He leant back in his chair, hanging his head back and closing his eyes. "Do me a favour, Tolya…if you don't have anything nice to say, keep your mouth _shut._"

Muttering under his breath, Anatoly tore his gaze away from Erik, instead looking over to the security monitors, almost desperate for a diversion. He yawned, eyes resting on one of the screens out of habit, his eyelashes beginning to mesh together automatically as he fought to keep his own eyes open. _Just two more hours_. Two more hours and then there'd be relief and he could finally just _sleep_…

"What?" There was a flicker of movement through the trees and Anatoly jumped instantly. It had almost been like a shadow, but sure enough, two seconds later there was another flicker of movement, as if someone was running past the camera at speed. Anatoly sat up straight, kicking his partner under the table. "Erik!"

"Huh?" Was the only, groggy response he received.

"I've seen something…on the monitor."

"Your mind's playing tricks on you…forget it."

"I…" Anatoly shook his head, puzzled. He watched the screen again for more movement, but when there was none he felt the heavy pattering in his chest begin to ease, waves of almost reluctant relief washing through him. _Maybe Erik was_ _right._ Settling back in his chair, Anatoly tried to force himself to relax, although his eyes remained fixed on the monitor.

In a fizz of white noise, one of the monitors turned black.

"_Chyort!_" Anatoly hissed, standing instantly and diving straight for the screens. "We've _lost _camera three…"

"Impossible…" The word might have come out calm but he had Erik's full attention, the man standing up and joining his side. "What _exactly_ did you see?"

"Nothing this time…it just blanked." Anatoly ran a hand through his hair. "They could have cut the power feed…"

"They?"

"I told you…I saw movement!" The younger Russian shook his head. He'd been in many combat situations but he sure as hell didn't like the feeling that he was being snuck up on. Almost to unnerve him further, camera two turned black right before his eyes.

"There's someone out there…" Erik was reaching for his rifle almost instinctively.

"Russians?"

"Maybe they're finally onto us." The older man shrugged. "But it doesn't feel right…they wouldn't pick off our cameras one by one..." He turned round just in time to see camera one flicker off, leaving them surrounded by blank screens. "They're getting closer."

"What do we do?"

"Radio Makarov….warn him. If they're assaulting the bunker then-…_wait_…" Erik held up his hand, silently gesturing for silence. He could hear voices outside the bunker…a countdown. "Fuck!" Overturning the table in front of him the older soldier knelt behind it, levelling his gun. "They're already breaching…get to Makarov, _now!_"

"But-"

"Just fucking _run!_"

* * *

The breach was a flurry of intense emotion; quick reflexes and the element of surprise the only real things determining who lived and who died. Gunfire awaited them immediately and they'd dove for whatever cover they could, Price and Soap cutting down the man knelt behind the table in their crossfire. Once he was silenced, the firing stopped, but Ghost could see another man, sprinting down the corridor, his arms and legs the image of frantic motion. He didn't hesitate in raising his ACR and putting the target down with two in the chest and one in the head.

The body collapsed into a tangle of limbs.

"Room clear!" Mactavish yelled behind him, but everyone was on full alert still, checking their corners and making sure the room was secure. Price was kneeling by the fallen body of Erik, his hands examining it efficiently.

"F2000, couple of frags and an M9. No sign of a radio or comms system." He stood up slowly.

"Any flash bangs?" Soap asked quickly, watching his back.

"Not by the looks of it…but keep an eye out." Reaching up to his ear, Price pushed on his earpiece gently. "Nikolai, breach 1 successful. Give me a sitrep, over."

"_Price!"_ There was a flurry of gunshots over the radio. _"We have breached but are meeting heavy resistance…"_ He yelled something loudly in Russian that the others couldn't make out.

"Can you handle it?"

"_Da, my friend..."_

"Roger that. Try to keep them busy…Team one pushing through now…" Price nodded quickly to the rest of the team. "Let's move out. Watch your corners…this place is a bloody _labyrinth._"

They moved on, Price taking point with the others following and Ghost bringing up the rear. There was distant gunfire in the air and assorted yells in Russian, but the area of the bunker they were in was relatively deserted, dimly lit and eerily quiet, the only rooms stemming off the corridor seeming to be empty storerooms and bathrooms…

"Targets!" Price's voice was suddenly an angry echo around them and the team scrabbled for cover, using the crates that lined the corridors as shields. There was a rattle of machine gun fire around him and Ghost straightened up slightly, peering around his cover. Five tangos with bleary eyes and not stood in full body armour. It was his guess that they'd stumbled across the room that was being used as their barracks.

"I'm reloading!" Soap yelled and Ghost fired practically over his shoulder, taking out one of the men who was unfortunate enough to have been left with no cover. Riley calmly watched him fall and then picked another target, suppressing him with a stream of intense fire forcing him to move into the open corridor where Price made quick work of taking him down. A hasty flash bang was thrown into what had been the barracks, followed by a rally of gunfire from Price and Markov, killing the disorientated men efficiently. The fire fight had been brutal yet short lived, Makarov's men tired and stumbling, far more likely to make mistakes than Price and the others. It was an almost unfair advantage to take, but in battle it was also a harsh reality.

"_Price…come in….Price!" _Nikolai's words were strained, but at least the gunfire around him had seemed to have stopped as his voice rang out again across their comms. _"Two of my men are hit…"_

"What's their status?"

"_Wounded. But they are in a bad way…Artem is with them."_ He paused briefly. _"I am on my own, my friend."_

"Then sit tight…Nikolai. That's an order."

"_Have you found Makarov?" _

"No…but if he's here he can't be far." Price shook his head. "Hiding until the end…"

"_Then I will help you find him." _

"No!" The force in Price's voice was not to be undermined. "You've lost your back up and you're no good to any of us dead. Stay with Artem…cover his back. We'll go on alone."

"_Then…good luck, my friend…" _

Turning around to face the group quickly, Price shed his mask, throwing it to the floor and wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. "We're on our own."

"And no sign of Makarov…" Soap grunted almost bitterly, kneeling painfully beside one of the fallen bodies, salvaging their ammunition.

"The west side of the bunker is reinforced…" Ghost recalled a rough sketch of the blue prints stuck in his mind's eye. "_If _he's here then that's got to be where he is."

"Then that's where we need to be." Price nodded. "We have the north and south exits covered, for a base this size we must have already neutralised most of his men…but _don't _let your guard down." The older Captain's eyes seemed to be focused on Markov more than anyone else. "If anyone's still alive out there then they still know this place like the back of their hands…"

* * *

He hadn't been asleep when the explosions had hit the bunker. He'd heard it all, from the frantic screams of his panicked men, to the gunshots that ominously ended their lives. Not that it mattered. Those closest to him were always going to die. It was just a matter of when.

As Makarov had sat in his room, he'd contemplated the next few hours. His men might have believed that it was the Russian army, but he knew differently, the camera security feeding to monitors in his room as well as the sentry's room. He'd seen them be disconnected methodically, one by one, heard the familiar rumble of frame charges breaching the bunker. This was not the Russian army blundering into his base. It was something far more precise, more specialised than that. It was Price, the ghost that Makarov had half been expecting for the past year.

He didn't know if Price understood, but Makarov knew plenty. He and the Captain were like two sides of the same coin, both ruthless in sight of their goals, both old, experienced soldiers who had seen every side that war had to offer. They were both hell bent on revenge, on _vengeance_. Shepherd had only been the start.

He'd known the instant that he'd let him survive the Boneyard that in some way; Price would be the death of him.

Calm, collected as he always was, Makarov had paced his room, contemplating his options. The adversary he prided himself on knowing so well would have been careful to leave him no avenue for escape and that made fighting with his men a doomed, undesirable option. He would not make it so easy for Price to simply run into his waiting trap. It was better to _wait,_ to draw the Captain in as far as he could and as a result force him to sustain as many losses as possible.

Makarov laughed at the thought, sitting down on his iron bed, the springs creaking under him, the inorganic, metallic sound breaking the silence around him. There hadn't been any gunshots for sometime and he bargained that few of his 23 closest men remained, most cut down in their barracks or as they tried to clear an escape route. He smiled. Their loyalty was at least a true reflection of the power of their beliefs, of the real spirit of the Ultranationalist party, the faith that Vorshevsky had so easily forgotten. They had proved the president was little more than an opportunistic fool already.

Reaching inside of his jacket, Makarov pulled out his M9 handgun, eyeing it curiously. He felt its familiar weight in his hand, checked and rechecked that it was loaded, the click falling heavy on the quiet air of his room. Satisfied he lifted it to his skull, pushing it hard against his temple so that it wrinkled his skin. His thumb clicked off the safety with no hesitation and he took in a deep breath, filling his lungs for a final time.

_No._ It was a coward's death and after all he had fought through and for, Makarov believed that he deserved _better_ than that.

The safety was snapped back into place on the gun and he threw it across the floor with distaste. He didn't relish the idea of giving Price the pleasure of killing him, but taking his own life would be like bowing out before his grand finale. He'd vowed years ago that he would see his work out to the bitter end and even with the threat of capture, interrogation and most likely execution, that vow stood steadfast in his mind. The promises Makarov had made to himself had always been and would always be the _most_ important.

He heard a brief spatter of gunshots, louder this time, _nearer_. They didn't continue for long, more a firing squad than anything else and this time Makarov could hear voices, English, speaking outside the door. There was one final barrier to go, however reinforced it might have been. A bitter smile pushed across his features. At least the waiting was over.

When a huge explosion shattered through the door, showering him in debris, Makarov instinctively pressed his body to the floor. When the distinctive '_whoosh'_ of a flash bang sounded around him, he screwed his eyes shut, but he was too late to avoid some of the flash, his retinas burning at the backs of his eyes. He winced, but he did not move, did not speak, determined to avoid the embarrassment of trying to right himself whilst so disorientated. As his vision returned he sat up, kneeling, the only figures that he could see shadows in his strained eyesight. He blinked hard as one of the shadows approached, the familiar silhouette of a gun appearing in front of his blurred vision. Makarov allowed himself a self satisfied smile. If he was about to be executed he would rather bite down on the gun barrel himself than beg Price for his life…

* * *

The smile almost made him _want_ to pull the trigger.

The others had seemed surprised that Makarov was alone, but Price was not, this last act of defiance making logical sense in his mind. His gun pointed firmly at Makarov's face, Price pushed forwards, pressing the barrel firmly against his forehead. He allowed himself a weak smile, before glancing quickly around the room, noticing the gun on the floor and nodding to it quickly.

"Markov…the _gun._" The younger Russian moved to retrieve it and the figure in front of his gun laughed gently, their body shaking underneath the barrel.

"Price…" Makarov practically smirked. "…You're _late_."

"Quiet…" The Captain pushed forwards with the gun, watching as Ghost moved around to the back of Makarov. "Stand."

"I don't take orders from you…"

"I said…" Price swiped his gun across effortlessly, hitting the Russian hard in the jaw, the metal colliding forcefully with his lip. "…_Stand_…" Another, dark laugh sounded in the room and Makarov spat out blood, but this time he complied, standing slowly so that he was eye to eye with Price, the gun now pressed firmly to his temple. Ghost was immediately moving forward and frisking him for any weapons or explosives. When he was satisfied that none were present, he pulled his arms back roughly, the cool, metallic _'click'_ of handcuffs fastening emanating into the room.

"Not going to finish it, Price?" Makarov smirked, adjusting his shoulders to their new position. He squinted, almost as if he was trying to read the Captain, his mouth forming an 'O' shape almost in realisation. "…I see…_of course_. You still _need _me…"

"You have a lot to answer for." Price shook his head. "And it's not for me to judge..."

"But you _hate_ that don't you?" Makarov laughed, pushing his head further into the barrel of the gun. "You've waited all this time…come so far and now you just want to end it. One bullet…just like with Zakhaev."

"Price…" Soap's voice was filled with warning, his features suddenly concerned. "_Don't_…"

"Do you take orders from him?" Makarov practically scoffed, his eyes never leaving Price's. "You've lost your bite…_old man_."

"And you've _lost_…" Price smiled satisfied, his tongue tracing across his teeth as he clicked off the safety catch on his gun.

"So kill me." Makarov half shrugged. "Finish it. It doesn't matter. Because that is the most beautiful thing about a dream, any dream, _**my**_dream. Yes, you can kill the dreamer…but you'll never kill the _idea_."

"…Price…" Mactavish was stepping forwards this time, one hand outstretched.

"Quiet, Soap." An unnerving, practically reflective smile spread across Price's features and he twitched his finger across the trigger of his gun, one eyebrow raised as he surveyed Makarov's expression. No one dared move or speak, the room enveloped in a tense silence.

There was a loud _'crack'_ and Makarov instantly crumpled, the butt of Price's handgun hitting him squarely in the back of the head. The Captain let out a deep sigh, blinking hard as if he had just had to rely of every inch of restraint that he possessed to not gun Makarov down right then and there. He let out a soft laugh, almost of relief, turning to Ghost quickly. "Get him bagged up and out of here." The lieutenant nodded and moved to place a sack over Makarov's unconscious and bleeding head.

"I thought you were going to kill him." Soap said softly as Ghost and Markov dragged their target's unconscious body from the room. He and Price had stayed to gather intel and we're ripping maps and newspaper clippings from the room walls, stuffing the paper into their pockets.

"I know what you thought." Price shrugged dismissively.

"Did you think about it?"

"I had a gun to his head…and we both know I'm capable." The older Captain gave him an almost disappointed look. "Of course I bloody did."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because even though I wanted to, Soap, I never _would._ That bastard is the core of all of this. I kill him and sure, it's finished. But do that and I immediately screw the world over. He's Shepherd's last loose end."

"But what do we do with him now?"

"We hand him over…give the Americans and the Russians the pleasure of dealing with him themselves." He laughed darkly. "It's kind of _fair_ really."

"How?"

"Think about it. A global war was started by two men…one Russian, one American. When the truth comes to light, it turns out that each side is just as guilty as the other…"

* * *

**And so, Makarov is captured and it all seems to be going so well. But is it? Only the next chapters will tell. Eitherway, I cannot deny that this fic had fed off your constant support and lovely reviews, so if you'd like to tell me what you thought…well, then I would adore you forever more. :)**

**Until then, thank you for reading! :D **

**-x-S-x- **


	20. Breaking Point

_**Warning! **__This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot. _

_**Also!**__ This chapter is rated M for darker themes revolving around interrogation. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them. _

**Note from Sassy: **So an apology. I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long. Firstly, its been a challenge, and secondly its very angsty, and sadly I've been having a bit of an emotional time which has made a dark fic even harder to write, so I'm really sorry. I should also credit **VerityA** for the use of one of her Makarov lines…if you haven't read her fic 'The Cottage Rewrite' then I definitely would! Either way, I hope you enjoy the drama, and of course, huge love and thanks go to my gorgeous reviewers! :D

**VerityA: **As always you are too kind, as well as being my muse. I do realise how good (or not) I am though, which is the problem. :P As for Makarov…well, sadly his moral compass has got him into a load of trouble… :/ *hugs*

**Leen141:** So do I! I would love to see what really becomes of Makarov, as well as the team. And thank you! I think Makarov is very complex, and describing him as just a bit crazy just doesn't do him justice as a character. I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

**xGhostxStealth:** NSD has got a bit intense recently… But thank you! You have no idea how happy that has made me, really. :D I'm sorry an update has taken so long, but thank you as always for your brilliant reviews, they make my night. :D

**UrgentOrange: **Thank you! *Blushes* It's a nice idea to think that I'm improving at least. As for the guns and my creative license…well we've been there already :P I am still honoured to be picked on though. :D

**xStealthxSniperx:** Thank you! I'm really not very confident with them, so I worry a lot about how they sound. :/ You are far too kind though! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much. :)

**SarkastinenNasse: **Aww, thank you! I worried about it being a let down when the fic had building up to Makarov's capture… And I'm glad you liked the Russian POV at the start. I got attached to the characters myself and hated killing them. I'm glad you liked Makarov too! I like to write him as complex, or at least try to. I am gutted I can't read Finnish though! :(

**Reeserella:** Haha oh yeah…its coming at long last (about 14 chapters too late :P) But thank you, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

* * *

"_No…" He didn't expect his words to have any real effect but he voiced them anyway, leaning back in his armchair, a clear grimace straining his features. In front of him was the little girl who had quite suddenly become a woman, her green eyes filled with frustration and enthusiasm in equal measure. He broke his gaze away, looking to his right where his wife looked on. "__**Nina…**__" Artem's voice was a silent plea for support. "You understand, right?" _

"_Dad!" Larisa almost begged, bringing his attentions back to where she was stood in front of him, her hands resting on her hips, her face determined. "This is the chance of a lifetime…" _

"_It's __**too**__ far away…" _

"_I'll be gone 8 weeks at a time!" Larisa rolled her eyes. "That's all. Just 8 weeks…" She turned her head, eyes desperately searching for her mother's approval. "Mum…you know what this means to me." _

"_You knew about this?" Artem stood up quickly, an angry scowl aimed at them both. "Did __**everyone**__ know except me?" _

"_She had only applied…we didn't want to worry you in case she wasn't successful." Nina sighed, not in the slightest fazed by her husband's short temper. "I __**knew**__ that you'd do this." _

"_So you __**lied**__ to me?" _

"_We're telling you now, Artem. That's all that's important here." _

"_I still don't like it." He shook his head quickly, his gaze flitting between them both. "It's too far…another country! With how things are now? It's ridiculous." _

"_It's an opportunity." Nina gave him a gentle nod. "Isn't that what you said you wanted for Larisa?" _

_An opportunity. The word was a sour presence in his thoughts, a bitter realisation that Nina was right. Larisa had always been a bright child, the top of her class and popular with her teachers. She was as motivated as he had been, but she had an added spark of intelligence that seemed to elevate her past his high expectations. He'd always believed in her, always told her that University was where she belonged, was where she would find the drive to continue learning and growing. He'd always told her that everything was possible, that nothing was out of her reach. And now she had taken that advice to heart. Oxford. He knew the meaning of the University, recognised its prestige and the accomplishment of actually receiving a place there to study, especially for an overseas student like Larisa. But at the same time, it was so far, so alien. And the politics of the time did nothing to soothe his paranoia. _

"_Dad…" Larisa was reaching out, grabbing his hand and holding it in between hers, a move that he couldn't stop tugging on his heartstrings. "This is what I want. More than anything. To study politics there…it would be a dream…" _

"_But it's England…" _

"_And I'll phone home every week…I promise. Twice if you want me to! And I'll be home before you know it…" She gave him a soft smile. "It's only three years." _

"_She won't get a chance like this again, Artem…" Nina added. _

"_I know…" _

"_And it's what I've worked for." Larisa nodded, sensing the sway in his emotions. "This is __**my**__ life, Dad." _

"_And…you'll come home…every chance you get?" The medic raised a reluctant eyebrow. _

"_I promise." Larisa laughed quickly. "I'm not going to miss Christmas for anything!" _

_He'd known then and there that it was impossible to say no and face becoming a hypocrite. He had no right to stop Larisa where his own father had tried to stop him, memories of being told that he would never make a doctor flooding through his mind. And so, he'd agreed, allowed himself to be enveloped in the crushing hug that followed and trying with all his might to smile, even if inside his heart felt heavy and broken. He couldn't really imagine his life without his daughter by his side. _

"_I'm proud of you." Nina smiled, tears sliding down her cheeks as they both stood in the terminal, Larisa disappearing amongst the throng of other passengers. The airport was hectic, bustling, filled with tourists and businessmen alike, but right then Artem felt as if they were the only people there, a bubble forming around them both. Swallowing hard, his strong front held back tears, but an arm reached out, wrapping its way around Nina's shoulders and pulling her close. A tearful head pressed itself into his neck and he bent his head, kissing her hair. _

"_You were right." He almost whispered into the strands, kissing the top of her head again. "This is what she wants." _

"…_And it'll get easier…" _

"_It will…" He nodded, pulling back from her so that he could give her a weak smile. "It's just eight weeks." _

"_Exactly." She laughed softly, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to his lips. "It's just us again." _

"_I suppose that's not so bad…being stuck with you." Artem smirked, although a quick jab to the ribs soon put him in his place, Nina's face feigning offense. _

"_I don't know how I put up with you…" _

"_Because you love me?" _

"_Maybe." _

"_Too bad." He smiled quickly, reaching for her hand. "Because I definitely still love you." _

_**3**__**rd**__** December, 2016**__. _

_Nina had slipped out of bed without disturbing him, leaving him to rest. It was a bright, inconspicuous morning, a harsh winter sun shining down on Moscow, the kind of pallid light that was beautiful but at the same time brutal. He woke up late, rolling out of bed and at first not realising the significance of the date, a hastily written note lying on the pillow next to him. _

"_**Thought you needed the sleep, so I've gone to pick up Larisa from the airport. Get your wallet ready, I think we owe her a welcome back lunch. Love you, Nin." **_

_A soft smile grew on his features and Artem glanced at the clock that hung from the far bedroom wall. 9.30am. They would already be making their way back. _

_He pulled on some clean clothes lazily and wandered into the kitchen, flicking the radio on whilst he rummaged in the fridge for some orange juice. At first he was only listening passively, his ears barely even registering the sound, mind lost deep within his own thoughts. It was just like every other morning. _

_All that changed in an instant. _

"…_Breaking news_... _Terrorists are thought to have made an attack on Zakhaev International Airport barely an hour ago. The attack is thought to have been started in terminal four, when witnesses from outside the airport reported to hear loud screaming and heavy gunfire. Armed police were immediately called to the area and it is still unknown whether they managed to apprehend the suspects. As of yet there is no news of how many fatalities have occurred as authorities have cordoned off the airport, but inside sources suggest that the death toll may well be over a hundred civilians, making this one of the most horrific terrorist attacks the country has ever endured…" _

_He'd barely been aware of his own thoughts, running out to his car and heading straight for the airport, his phone permanently attached to his ear as he continuously rang Nina's mobile, desperate for her to answer. The traffic in the city centre was panicked and congested so he'd abandoned his car, leaving it on the street and running the rest of the way, lungs burning heavily in his chest from the exercise. By now crowds were gathered around the airport, horrified bystanders desperate for news, but they found none, the police cordon holding them back and far away from any further threat. There was no news, no reassurance and people openly cried around him, many of them frantically dialling numbers and yelling into their phones, leaving voicemails that would never be heard. Everyone was spurred on by the same, insane hope, the same mad desire to hear their loved one's voice on the other end of the line… _

_In retrospect, Artem had always thought that the number of unanswered phones ringing in the airport must have been harrowing. _

_He'd lost his wife and daughter in an instant. The massacre had claimed them amongst all the others, their names becoming swallowed up within a larger statistic. To the world they were amongst the many innocent souls whose murder led to war. To Artem they were his life, his reality, torn from him in the blink of an eye. _

_He hadn't cried until their funerals, the sudden sight of the coffins suddenly making everything a reality. After that he felt that he would never stop, regret, guilt and remorse a constant presence in his mind and soul. He was filled with 'what ifs' and with painful questions. He hated himself for at least not dying with them, for not going with Nina to the airport and somehow managing to survive by a mere quirk of fate. The world descended into a pit of depression, self pity and thoughts so dark they could never be repeated. He was lost, suspended in limbo, suddenly trapped in a reality that had no purpose. _

_That was when he had found it. A letter from his old friend from years before, written to him back in the days when he had been too content to even consider it. Nikolai. They'd been good friends back in the days when they were both soldiers, but when Artem had left to settle down Nikolai had seemingly disappeared, no longer returning his letters or calls. The letter had come out of nowhere and although he had kept it for posterity's sake, Artem had pushed all thoughts of it aside. Until now… _

"_**My friend…I need men I can trust. Men who are not completely convinced by our new government. Maybe you could call us the last loyalists. Either way I think you know what I'm asking of you. We need a medic. A loyal, good man like you. If you agree with anything that I've said, then please, at least consider it. **_

_**-N- " **_

_He had nothing left to live for, and in an instant his mind had been made up. He would fight again, for the wife he'd failed and the daughter who'd been murdered by the same politics that she'd loved…_

Makarov.

As the aircraft buzzed around them, Artem was almost in touching distance of the man who was behind it all, the man who'd walked through that same airport and cut down the people he loved. He was lying there, pathetic, handcuffed, a grubby brown bag still masking his features. Many of the men on board weren't paying attention, sore, injured and wearied by the operation. Artem was so close he could have simply reached over and pushed the fabric of the bag into the terrorist's mouth. _No one would even miss him…_

He would have done it too, but it was too kind. Suffocation would be relatively painless, unconsciousness falling like darkness and removing all suffering. It wasn't the death that Vladimir Makarov _deserved… _

He'd have to wait. But as he sat there, closing his eyes and thinking to the future, Artem reassured himself that Makarov _would_ suffer. He would pay for every life that he had destroyed in Moscow. Not just the people he'd massacred, but for the people that had been left behind too…

* * *

Interrogation and torture were two very different things in Price's mind. Interrogation was unpleasant, inhumane and yet necessary, usually where the fear of pain far suppressed the pain itself. Torture was barbaric, pointless and savage. It served no purpose.

He'd not always known the difference. John Price considered himself to be as far from perfect as you could get and many times in the past he had confused interrogation with torture. He'd inflicted pain just because he could, or just because he thought he _should_, pushed people to the very brink of their limits without asking them a single question, not even allowing them the grace and kindness of death. It didn't make him proud to remember any of it, didn't make him feel tougher, or stronger, or simply more of a 'man' because of it. If anything, it made him feel ashamed, although he would never admit it to another human being for as long as he lived. However, he took solace in the fact that the experiences had taught him something, showed him what uncontrolled and unchecked vengeance was truly capable of.

But what he was doing with Makarov, what they were _all_ doing, was something in a grey area. Price had questions, lots of them, and as a result Makarov's suffering was an interrogation. But at the same time, he hadn't asked any of them yet and that suddenly made everything feel so much more like the mindless torture he had come to despise.

"Hey!" Makarov's eyes had drooped closed and Price swiped at his face with his fist, connecting a firm punch into the Russian's already battered jaw. Flecks of dried blood spotted the pale skin of Makarov's face, smears darkening areas of his stubble. His lip was already inflamed and angry, a deep purple bruise beginning to circle his right eye. It was mainly Ghost's work, although the split lip was a direct present from Price himself. The idea was to make Makarov as malleable as possible, and his every experience at the base was crafted to cause him suffering, either through humiliation or more physical means. He was denied food, water, even _movement_, strapped to the cold metal chair, his hands tied at rough angles behind the back, his legs secured to the chair legs. By now they would be almost burningly with the need to move. "No sleep." Price waved his finger as if he was reprimanding a child, watching as Makarov's head lolled forwards onto his chest. They'd been meticulously keeping Makarov awake since his capture, and now his brain was lost deep in a bout of 'microsleeping', switching off into unconsciousness for a split second before his guard would rouse him brutally. Price doubted that it was all enough to actually break Makarov, but it was at least a start.

"How many…" Slowly, as if it was using all of his strength, Makarov began to speak, although due to his dry throat it was more of a croak than anything else. He managed to lift his head, eyes level with Price. "…have you broken like this?"

"Enough." Price replied immediately.

"I will not be… one of them…" The mismatched eyes showed true defiance.

"I don't think you're in a position to talk like that…" Price rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "But if you say so."

"…What do you…want?"

"Who says I _want _anything?" He raised a curious, almost bluffing eyebrow.

"Because…you and I are the same." The noise that escaped Makarov's beaten mouth was a breathy rasp, as close to a laugh as he could probably manage. "…You wouldn't want to give me the satisfaction of knowing that you were just torturing me…"

"Then maybe you and I can reach a little deal…?" To accentuate his point further, Price leaned forwards, his face as close to Makarov's as he could bear.

"…A deal?"

"Give me everything you have on Shepherd...and maybe I'll tell the Yanks to play nice with you when we hand you over…"

"…I will not be intimidated by the brutalities of the West…" Makarov shook his head, a pained, slow motion that threw shadows across his bare, bruised torso.

"And what about your own country?" Price raised an eyebrow. "They want your blood too…"

"My country…is led by a fool. An idiot…_trus_." Makarov grimaced. "I fear no one."

"Not even me?" Price let out a sarcastic laugh, fumbling for a packet of cigarettes. "I'm _hurt_."

"Least of all…_you_." Makarov forced an almost satisfied smirk, his fat lip hiding most of the gesture. "…You can't do anything…You need me. _Alive_." He let out another rasping laugh. "…And you hate it…"

It was a move too fast for Makarov's sleep deprived brain to understand as Price launched forwards, his pack of cigarettes lying neglected on the table. His left hand instinctively reached for Makarov's hair, gripping it tight and pulling his head backwards, his M1911 pressed firmly against the Russian's temple. When he spoke he kept the same calm, controlled tones, although there was an undeniable shake in his forearm. "Don't think for a second…that you can read me…"

"Should I be scared?" The determination that met Price's gaze was not to be underestimated.

"If you know what's good for you…No one said I _needed_ you alive…" Price spat bitterly. "It's only _easier_ that way…"

"Then…why stop?" Makarov spluttered, pushing his head closer to the gun. "Finish it…I dare you to…"

"_Price…_" There was another voice in the room, catching both men equally off guard. The Captain spun round, his eyes meeting with Markov and for a moment he stood motionless, almost as if he was embarrassed. Makarov's head lolled back down onto his chest and he choked again, not bothering to lift his gaze to look either of his captors in the eye. Markov faltered for a second, before giving Price an unsure look. "I'm your relief."

"Good." The Captain nodded abruptly, deciding that to show no emotion was the best course of action. His gaze slipped back to Makarov who was beginning to drift again and Price thrust his hand gun down firmly down onto the back of his neck, not a shimmer of remorse in his features. "Keep him awake."

"Yes…of course."

"Are the others around?"

"They're waiting for you in Artem's surgery…" Markov nodded slowly, sitting down in front of Makarov. "Nikolai sent me."

"Perfect." Price was already by the door when he spoke out, opening it and giving a fleeting nod towards their prisoner. "You might want to gag him too…if he hasn't got anything important to say then I don't want to hear it. Ok?"

* * *

The atmosphere in Artem's surgery was not a celebratory one. It was sombre, dark, almost brooding as Price stepped into the room, Nikolai, Artem, Ghost and Soap all stood waiting patiently for him. He gave them all a polite nod, although his eyes lingered on Soap, the other Captain looking pale and severely unwell. Price was quick enough to notice an almost concerned, caring squeeze to Mactavish's shoulder by Riley, but he ignored it, speaking to Soap directly instead.

"You look like death, mate."

"Cheers." Soap rolled his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably on the desk that he and Ghost were leaning on, the lieutenant moving aside slightly to allow him a little more room. "I'll be ok."

"I will give you more pain medication." Artem nodded curtly. His eyes immediately fell on Price. "Makarov?"

"Still with us. He's losing it a little…but he's tricky."

"Tricky?" Nikolai raised a confused eyebrow.

"He's not your average merc…he's trained, damn well too. He knows every trick in the interrogation handbook."

"So we push him as far as he goes…" Soap shrugged, trying to hide a wince of pain as he did so. "We've done it before."

"It'll take time…" Nikolai added.

"We're not going anywhere." Price sighed. "If it comes to it...we've got all the time we need. Long as he's still _breathing_."

"…Or we play by rules of our own…" Artem said slowly, his voice dark, eyes staring out into space. "There are some things he _cannot_ protect himself against."

"Artem…" Nikolai's voice was almost warning, a scowl sweeping across his features as if he knew what the medic was thinking. "We cannot…-"

"We _can_." The medic turned around, stepping towards his medicine cabinet, reaching into it and hunting through the vials of chemicals purposefully, most of them looking as if they'd never been touched. Finding what he was obviously looking for, Artem brought the vial of clear liquid out into the light, holding it out towards Price. "_Atropine_…"

"Psychochems?" Price raised a knowing eyebrow. "I can't say I know much about it."

"I use this drug if I am resuscitating…it increases the heart rate." Artem nodded slowly. "But if I inject more than 20mg…it is different."

"What does it do?" Ghost's voice was blunt and unfazed.

"It makes you dizzy, nauseous and blurs the vision. It confuses you, light becomes unbearable and…" The corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile. "High enough doses will give you hallucinations."

"What kind of hallucinations?" Soap said almost cautiously.

"The worst kind…" Artem flicked the bottle. "This is _not_ for recreation."

"But is it safe?" Price shook his head softly. "We didn't risk everything to capture him just to kill him in a drugs test."

"I won't give him enough for that. But he will suffer…and he won't be able to hide it."

"And you've done this before?" The older Captain was still not convinced, watching the medic carefully.

"No."

"Then how can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm a doctor…" Artem shrugged confidently. "I keep people alive…whether they want to be or not."

* * *

_His heart was about to burst through his ribcage. _

_His pulse was a frantic tapping in his wrists, his temples, even his groin. It felt as though it was mounting, increasing, his veins suddenly feeling so exposed underneath such thin sheets of skin. He couldn't focus; the world was spinning around him although he was sat still, ever restricted in his every movement. The bright lights above him burned, twisting into different shapes and moving across his vision like phantoms, causing him to blink furiously, a doomed attempt to try and correct his vision, hot tears stinging underneath his eyelids. Even with his eyes clamped shut, the light was still there, intense and fiery as it scorched at his delicate retinas, shooting pains stabbing all through his skull. His entire body felt to be engulfed by fire, but a cool sheen of sweat on his bare torso made him tremor, every hair on his skin standing on end. _

"_I'm burning…" Makarov managed to mutter, his hands struggling in their restraints, his mind willing them to break free and tear at his skin, anything to make the crawling, tingling hot sensation leave him. His hearing was muffled, almost as if he was about to faint and he was unsure of whether or not he was speaking out loud, his words almost echoing around him. "Water…please…__**anything**__…" He lurched forwards in his chair, hanging his head as a desperate attempt to stay out of the light. "You're burning me!" _

"_Be quiet." A deep, driving voice suddenly sounded around him, but Makarov didn't look up. He __**couldn't.**__ "Stop being weak." _

"_I can't…" _

"_You're an embarrassment. Look up at me." The voice commanded, but Makarov refused to comply. All was quiet for a few moments until the voice tried again, louder and more forceful this time. "Look up!" _

_Makarov jumped in his skin, the heavy noise ricocheting through his mind. His eyes snapped open, his breath suddenly hitching in his throat as Imran Zakhaev moved forwards, forcing a tight hand around his neck, the grip relentless and unforgiving. _

"_Zakhaev…?" _

"_You've embarrassed me." Zakhaev spat. "Look at you…weak, pathetic. Begging like a __**dog.**__" He let go out of disgust. "This is not how I planned you to be." _

"_I followed you…" _

"_You followed __**yourself.**__ Your own agendas, your own petty crimes." Imran let out a dark laugh. "Did we not think of something greater, Vladimir?" _

"_We were prostituted to the West…you said so yourself!" Makarov yelled loudly, his voice grating in his throat. "This war was to punish the west…To make them fight and die on their own soil…" _

"_This war was for your own petty revenge, don't try and deny it!" Zakhaev snarled. "Even that fool Vorshevsky knew better than you…" _

"_You know nothing…" _

"_I know more than you credit me for. Do not forget who it was who elevated you…who gave you __**strength.**__" The older Russian rolled his eyes. "You were nothing until I gave you a position alongside me, and this is how you repay me?"_

"_I avenged you…" Makarov shook his head, agony stinging behind his eyes. "I __**still **__plan to avenge you…" _

"_The war is finished…" _

"_It is not over…I planned for this…" _

"_You let yourself be captured…You were a coward…" _

"_I did what I needed to…To __**survive**__." Makarov gasped, his hands still wrestling with his restraints frantically. "I wanted to see it to the end…" _

"_See what?" _

"_Yakov…" Makarov laughed suddenly, the action catching even himself off guard and his body jerked painfully. "My lieutenant…has infiltrated the base in the Altay mountains…the silo where you failed. The longer I am here, the more impatient he will get." A satisfied smirk danced across his features. "The missiles will launch…the Americans will suffer…and our war will be renewed. Vorshevsky will have no choice…" _

"_You're insane…" _

"_I am justified…I __**will**__ have my war. Not just for me, but for you…"_

* * *

He'd heard every word.

The hallucinations hadn't taken long and Artem had stood there for the duration, not hiding his enjoyment as Makarov twisted and yelled, writhing like a snake caught within a fire. He'd listened to him plead; to his one sided conversation, meaningless words flying out from his mouth like justifications. Not for a moment had the medic feel a single twinge of pity within his body.

"_I am justified…I __**will**__ have my war. Not just for me, but for you…"_

The words had changed everything. For they'd been stupid enough to think that with Makarov's capture, the battle would be won and the worst would be over. But they'd been wrong. Vladimir Makarov had been much cleverer than that, engineering a final battle that did not even require him to be centre stage.

In some ways, the worst was just about to begin…

* * *

**Ok so I know this is dark, but I really wanted to explore some of the consequences of 'No Russian'. And before anyone pouts…come on, this is me, of course there has to be an attempt at a cliffhanger… :P But in the mean time, I apologise again for this being a bit depressing. NSD is coming to a climax…and as a result things are getting a little more grown up (at least I hope so). On that note, if you're still enjoying this ride that we seem to be on, then I would love to read your reviews. They motivate me more than I can say, and they make me feel really special! **

**Thanks for the support! **

**-x-S-x- **


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